


matcha & milk

by bafflinghaze



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cake, Coffee Shops & Cafés, Currently General Rating but planned to change in the future, Desserts, Disaster Gays, Fluff, M/M, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Build, Tea, With a sprinkling of flangst, dare I say..., idiots to lovers, mild mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 53,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: Oliver likes sweet foods, but for many reasons has resisted. Robin runs a small cafe with irresistible sweet treats. A warm slice of life of two men bonding over delicious desserts and drinks.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 202
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was literally made because I was craving certain desserts 🙈
> 
> Front cover:

## 1\. Bubble Waffles

Oliver waves off his coworker. “It’s a _five_ minute walk, I don’t need a taxi,” he tells her, and leaves before she can protest.

It’s almost midnight, and though Melbourne city is still awake, Oliver doubts anyone would recognise him in the dim lighting— _and_ he has shades on.

(He’s also not nearly as famous as the company likes to try to tell him.)

He skirts around a group of students laughing and eating ice cream. The entrance to his apartment block is just down the street, but as of lately, his eyes draw to a certain dessert shop, _Matcha & Milk_.

It’s been open for a few weeks already, but Oliver hasn’t been. If he were a 14-year-old girl, he could go in by himself and it would be socially acceptable. But he’s not.

Oliver’s steps stutter. The shop is currently _empty_ but for the barista behind the counter. There’s an offer on too: a new matcha ice cream and bubble waffle. Oliver’s mouth salivates.

The barista looks up, clearly seeing him through the glass front.

With that, Oliver throws caution to the wind and heads inside. Sweet scents fill the air.

“How may I help you?” The barista’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, and Oliver’s heart stumbles.

“I, er—the matcha?” It comes out like a question. _But that’s alright!_ Oliver desperately thinks, _It’s an Aussie thing to speak like that, he’s young too, right?_

A thoughtful look comes across the barista’s face. “Matcha bubble tea?”

“The ice cream and waffle. Please.”

The barista’s smile widens. “Of course.” He winks. “Since it’s so late, I’ll give you two extra toppings for free, okay?”

There’s no recognition of Oliver in the barista’s eyes, and Oliver relaxes. “Thanks.”

The barista shows him the selection of toppings, and soon, Oliver’s the proud owner of a bubble waffle topped with matcha ice-cream, strawberries and chocolate drizzle. It’s so beautiful and enticing that he takes a big bite right there.

“ _Ohhhhh_ ,” he moans. The sharpness of the strawberries complements the sweet chocolate, the grassy matcha, and the warm and soft waffle. Then—

 _Crap_. Oliver’s eyes snap to the barista, and he flushes. “Sorry, mate, I’ll—”

“I’m glad you like it,” the barista grins. He slides a card over the counter: it has a number of circles, one of which is stamped. “You get a free drink on your 20th visit.”

Oliver takes it and stuffs it in his pocket. “Cheers?” He nods in a much more refined, adult manner, before quickly leaving.

The lift in his building is annoyingly slow, and trying to open his flat door with one hand is a bit of struggle. But finally, in the privacy of his own home, Oliver’s able to take another bite: a bit of the waffle only, then lick of the ice cream. His chest swells. He grew up on cheap Coles vanilla ice cream. But this was so much better—and he’s an adult now. He’s _allowed_ to spend money on things like this, right? And the barista didn’t judge him at all.

By the end, some of the matcha ice cream has melted: he can’t stop himself from licking it off his fingers.

And sighing.

When he licks his lips, he can still taste hints of the matcha, of the chocolate. It reminds him of the barista’s smile, and Oliver groans, already knowing that he’s going to have to go back and try some more desserts.

  


## 2\. Bubble Tea

Robin’s dessert shop opens at noon. The night before, he’s already cleaned the front glass and the shop itself. So his work day begins with preparing the boba—it takes a while to boil. With the strawberry season, he gets a crate of them. He picks out the most beautiful ones for decorations, and dices up the rest for a chunky, loose sort of strawberry jam that forms the basis of strawberry milks.

Various ice creams are set overnight: after he starts baking some of the toppings, he transfers the tubs of ice cream to the chilled counter. The final thing he does is prepare the other fresh fruit, and then his shop is ready to open.

Bubble tea is the most popular item, but the waffles and ice cream are coming close second, though that might change once he takes the offer down.

After the after-dinner rush, Robin gives a stretch, running a critical eye over the remaining ingredients. He starts preparing for the next day in between the sparse remaining customers.

Sometime close to midnight, the guy with the sunnies comes in.

Robin bites back a smile. It’s been a week already, but he’s glad he’s come back. “How may I help you today? If you liked the matcha, I have other matcha items. If you liked the waffle, then you could have it with another ice-cream flavour. Taro is popular, and so is cheesecake.”

... _Ah, woops_. The guy’s mouth is slightly open, wordless. Robin pauses, and pretends to be busy re-arranging the counter for a bit.

The guy clears his throat. “Erm, bubble tea is what kids drink these days, right?”

Robin’s smile widens, and he winks. “The cool ones do. The OG one is milk tea, but matcha, taro and teh tarik are also popular. I also find the small boba are easier to handle.”

“Yes.”

“Hot or cold? Ice level and sugar level?” At the guy’s frozen expression, Robin takes pity on him. “I’ll prepare 25% ice, 50% sugar then,” he says gently. “And we can adjust.”

The guy quickly nods, and brings out his loyalty card for Robin to stamp.

Bubble tea making is familiar and routine. While the milk tea is infusing, Robin ladles in boba in first, then ice in the plastic jar. The milk tea goes in, right to the top, and the cup is closed with a lid with a hole on top.

“Just peel off the plastic at the top here, and slip in the big straw,” Robin tells him. “If you bring back the cup, then you can get 50 cents off your drink.”

The guy licks his lips. “Okay.”

This time, Robin slips him the shop’s new menu pamphlet—“And to have a look in your own time,” he says with a kind smile. “And there’s an Instagram page too.”

The guy blushes. “Thanks. Night!”

Robin’s left bereft when the guy leaves without tasting it for Robin to see, but he quickly shakes it off. After all, customers leave his shop before eating all the time. Why would this guy be any different?

  


## 3\. Dalgona Coffee

Oliver reads the dessert shop pamphlet more than once. He checks out their instagram page too, and finds that the name of the barista is _Robin_. And the _desserts_ … For such a small shop, there are so many variations, many of which would never have appeared in his old suburb.

It drives him to distraction. He’s supposed to be writing something _brooding_ , but it’s not working and his coworker—she’s almost his boss, really—is not happy.

Finally, she sighs. “Go for a walk. Get a coffee,” she says, and shoos him out of the building.

Oliver slips his sunnies on and his feet carry him to the _Matcha & Milk_. There are mostly uni students, and Oliver straightens. He’s young enough.

He casually slips into the shop as a cluster leave. There’s just one person in front of him, and then it’s his turn. Oliver’s palms are _not_ sweaty.

Robin’s smile brightens. “Hey there. What can I do for you today?”

“Dalgona coffee, ice, please,” Oliver says confidently, and slides out his loyalty card and taps his credit card on the contactless.

Robin nods, handing back the stamped card and receipt. “Just a little bit of a wait, okay?”

“It’s Oliver,” Oliver blurts out.

Robin’s brows go up. “Oliver?”

“My name.”

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “I typically call out the number on your receipt, but I’ll remember you, Oliver,” he says with a smile. “You can wait there,” he adds, motioning to the area near the straws and napkins and cutlery.

Oliver flushes. “Right, thanks.”

 _It’s not Starbucks!_ he cringes internally. He tries to act cool, avoiding the gazes of the other patrons. Which means that his gaze draws to Robin, calmly and efficiently making desserts and drinks.

“Number 24—Oliver,” Robin finally calls out.

Oliver exhales and steps up. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Oliver wants to say something more—what, he doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, because the first school child is entered in what would be the start of the afterschool rush.

 _But I have my coffee!_ he reassures himself, settling with a smile at Robin before heading back to work.

His coworker gives him a look of great surprise. “I never knew you were so on-trend,” she says, staring at his coffee. “We could take an aesthetic shot for the instagram page.”

Oliver’s eyes widen. “Hell no!” he exclaims, holding the coffee close to this chest. He pulls away from her, and ends up glancing at a mirror on the opposite wall. His sunnies are still on, and he grimaces.

 _How could I see Robin looking like **that**?_ he groans. He pulls the sunnies off and hangs them off his shirt collar.

When he finally sits down and drinks the coffee, he finds it just as fluffy as it looks. It’s sweet, more dessert than coffee, and somehow Oliver can’t see that as a bad thing.

He just needs to make sure that none of the other guys at his work sees it—because they’re Melbourne coffee snobs and only take their coffee black.

Oliver sips a little more coffee and muses. Could he write something about being broody over _coffee_? Just exchange the words and no-one would know. And coffee ‘metaphors’ might do well with the Melbourne crowd…

Smiling, Oliver gets to work.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will update approximately every week (this is my relaxing/chill-out fic)


	2. Chapter 2

## 4\. Strawberry Milk

One late night finds Robin making persimmon cheesecake. There’s something that he loves with pairing flavours more traditional of east Asia with western desserts. One day, he’ll make something with durian, but today is not the day.

(Despite the stereotype, a lot of asians don’t like durian—his sister is a case in point.)

These persimmons are ripe, and cutting through them feels almost like some kind of firm jelly. He’ll have to reduce the sugar in the cheesecake to balance it out, and perhaps even add a bit of yoghurt to cut through the sweetness. Maybe some slivers of bitter candied orange?

At the familiar sound of the door open (and the _whoosh_ of outside traffic), Robin sets down his knife, pulls off his gloves, and quickly heads to the front of the counter.

“Oh, Oliver,” he says, smiling. “How can I help you this evening?”

To his surprise, Oliver _takes off his sunglasses_ , revealing light brown eyes that match his light brown hair. “Evening,” Oliver says, smiling back. His eyes are bright. “What were you doing?”

“Cakes,” Robin answers. He waves to an empty counter section. “They usually sell out by this time, unfortunately. But I could set aside an order for you.”

Oliver’s face falls. “Nah,” he mumbles. “I wanted something without any caffeine—I need to be up early tomorrow.”

“How about strawberry milk?” Robin suggests. “It’s fresh strawberries, full cream milk—or any alternative. I can make it hot, perfect before bed.”

Oliver licks his lips. “Oh, yeah.” He pulls out a plastic jar, smiling uncertainly.

“Great, you remembered,” Robin grins. “You don’t have to bring this cup—a lot of people like to bring their own travel mugs and bottles too.”

Robin sets the milk to heat up. The last of the jammy strawberries-and-sugar go into the plastic jar. The milk goes up most of the way, and Robin uses a long, thin spoon to mix it. The entire affair is then topped with milk foam.

“Brings back my childhood and Nesquik Strawberry,” Oliver says. He takes a sip through the straw, and his eyes brighten. “Tastes like real strawberries,” he says with a grin. “Thanks.”

“Ah—wait,” Robin quickly says. He takes a packaged cookie and slides it over. “Have it—it’s the last one, and I’m closing up soon anyway.”

Oliver’s eyes light up. “Milk and cookies?”

Robin smiles indulgently. “Brings back childhood, doesn’t it?”

Oliver bites his bottom lip. “Thanks, Robin.” He carefully takes the cookie. “Have a good evening.”

Robin bids him farewell, and breezes through the final prep work for the night.

  


## 5\. Persimmon Cheesecake

Oliver tries to smile in front of the mirror, and grimaces. How is _Robin_ able to smile so effortlessly? Oliver knows how to be broody for the camera when needed (thank goodness he’s not on the more public side of the company), but he doesn’t _want_ to seem like some angsty university student right now.

He sighs. It doesn’t matter anyway. Robin seems like the nice sort that smiles at all his customers, no matter how cringey. He slips on his sunnies, and grimaces. It makes him look _suspicious_ , especially with his black jacket. With a groan, he takes them off again.

He leaves the drinks cup behind, heading to the dessert shop on a Sunday afternoon on _purpose_ , when Melbourne’s not nearly as busy.

Oliver waits outside for a bit, making sure it’s not crowded, before heading in. 

“Good afternoon, Oliver,” Robin greets.

Oliver can’t look at the smile for too long (he doesn’t want to think about it). Instead he heads over to the cakes counter. “How’re you going?”

“Good, thanks, You?”

“Good. The matcha cake is really popular?” There’s the label, but no cake.

“Yes,” Robin says with a hint of chagrin. “I’ve been thinking of opening up a preorder for cakes, because there are some customers who like to buy the entire cake.”

“What was it that you were making the other day?”

Robin purses his lips. “Persimmon cheesecake, I believe.” He points to a pale orange cheesecake topped with orange-coloured fruit slices.

“Persimmons?”

“You’ve never had them?”

Oliver leans forward, and smiles charmingly. “Better late than never?”

Robin blinks, and then his eyes dip away. “Sure. If you don’t like it, I’ll swap it with something else, free of charge. Do you want to eat in?”

Given that there _is_ space at the single table, Oliver agrees.

Robin has long, slender fingers, Oliver realises as Robin carefully transfers a slice of persimmon cheesecake to a pale speckled plate. It matches the rest of Robin’s tall, slim figure.

Oliver doesn’t know if he’s disappointed when another customer comes in. He cuts through the cheesecake with his spoon and _oooh_.

_Ooohhh_. The cheesecake is not overly sweet. It’s smooth and light and melts in his mouth, and there’s this unfamiliar flavour—persimmon? Slices of persimmon are arranged on the top—Oliver scoops a bit of it with the cheesecake. The persimmon is _sweeter_ than the cake, and just as rich, albeit in a different way that Oliver can’t put his finger on. It’s almost like mango, but silkier.

Oliver bites back a moan, and goes in for another bite. He tries to savour it as much as possible, but good things come to an end. He looks up, finally, and flushes when he realises Robin’s _watching_ him with a fond smile on his face.

“So you liked it,” Robin says.

“Kids these days are so lucky,” Oliver grumbles. He carries the plate and spoon back to the counter. “They get to grow up with this, instead of my mum’s dry vanilla cake.”

Robin laughs—it’s light and airy and makes Oliver’s chest expand with _something_.

“I’m sure your mother tried her best.”

Oliver finds himself smiling back. “I’ll have to buy her a slice one day, just to see her face.”

Robin smiles back. “Is your mum adventurous?”

“...No,” Oliver deflates.

Robin gives him a reassuring smile. “If you can find out your mum’s preferences, I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

Oliver’s weak in the knees. With his smile, Robin might even be able to charm his mum.

...What is Oliver _thinking_? Robin might not be attracted to men, anyway. (Oliver had looked for pride stickers around the shop, but there are none.)

—and not that it matters! Robin’s the shop owner, and Oliver’s a customer. It’s a completely professional relationship.

“—Oliver? Is this anything else you’ll like to-go?”

_Damn it, Oliver!_ he berates himself. “Nah, that’s fine. I’ll see again soon.”

Hoping he’s not as red as he feels, Oliver leaves the shop, the taste of persimmons still lingering on his lips, and Robin’s fingers on his mind.

  


## 6\. Hot Taro Milk Tea

With winter coming up, Robin has been brainstorming hot desserts. He’s already noticed a downtick in ice cream purchases, though there’s still a fair number of bubble waffle orders—because the waffle is warm, he muses.

Of course, many of the milk teas can be served hot, and cream cheese toppings are deliciously creamy and warming in the cold weather. Perhaps one of the traditional hot soup desserts? Or hot pies served with ice cream…

  


  


One evening, it’s raining hard in Melbourne, and Robin’s seriously thinking of closing early, but the thought of someone passing by and being disappointed that he’s closed stops him.

—So when the door opens with the pitter-patter of rain, Robin’s relieved that he made the right choice, smiling brightly at the incomer.

“Evening,” Oliver greets, closing his umbrella and taking off his sunnies.

“Not too wet?” Robin commiserates.

Oliver doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I sort of work near here.”

“And I work right here,” Robin says.

Oliver looks up again and grins. “Yeah? I didn’t realise.”

“Mhm. How are you going?”

Oliver shrugs. “Work’s work. It’s getting a little busy, but nothing extreme.”

Robin holds his tongue—if Oliver doesn’t want to mention what his work is, then Robin won’t pry, though he’s quite curious at which kind of workplace dresses in black leather jackets and tight jeans.

“For this cold weather, I recommend a hot milk tea,” Robin says. “Taro is a favourite.”

“A sweet potato in my dessert?”

“An _asian_ sweet potato.” Robin smiles. “Imagine my surprise when I found that white people eat sweet potato in _savoury_ dishes.”

Oliver laughs. “If you don’t learn, you never know. Okay, sure, I’m feeling adventurous. Hit me up with some taro,” he says with a cheesy wink. He pulls out his reusable cup and hands it over.

Robin bites back a grin and starts heating up the milk. Taro powder is mixed in along with sugar, which Robin thinks he can judge pretty well now for Oliver’s taste.

“ _Ohhh_. It’s...surprisingly nutty?” Oliver tries. “Wow.”

Robin smiles softly, enjoying the blissful expression on Oliver’s face. The way he licks his lips—that dart of a pink tongue—before taking another sip.

Oliver sighs happily. “I bet you’ve tasted every combination in the shop.”

“Of course,” Robin says. “And more besides. There are a _lot_ of failed experiments.”

Oliver chuckles. “Oh yeah, I can understand _that_.” He puts on a thoughtful expression as he looks at the display board. “If I came in every day, how long would it take me to taste everything?”

Robin smirks. “Depends on how quickly I can make new products.”

Oliver laughs, and it lights up the whole room. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Robin smiles back, his smile softening as Oliver’s gaze lingers. “I look forward to your visits,” he says quietly. He blinks when Oliver’s ears go red. The taro milk wasn’t _that_ hot, was it?

“Okay, okay,” Oliver says, voice gruff. “I better head out now.”

It feels as though Oliver left quickly, and it leaves Robin wondering if he said something wrong. Robin sighs, and decides it's time to wrap up for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I saw the strawberry milk on a korean cafe vlog and it looks so cute.
> 
> Also, there's persimmon cheesecake here, but I hold up to you: DURIAN cheesecake!!


	3. Chapter 3

## 7\. Americano*

Oliver idly skims through Robin’s instagram page—well, the _shop’s_ instagram page. He hasn’t followed it, because...well, he doesn’t want people wondering why he’s following a _dessert_ instagram.

“Hey, Oliver,” his coworker, Mia, barges in, waving her phone. Oliver nearly jumps, quickly locking his screen.

When Mia finally slows down her waving, Oliver sees that it’s an instagram picture of a separated coffee and milk drink.

“Where did you buy that dalgona coffee the other week?” Mia asks.

Oliver freezes. “Huh?”

“The dalgona coffee!” she repeats, waving her phone in his face. “I want to try it!”

“Right now?” Oliver croaks. _She’s gonna find out, she’s gonna find out…!!_

“Yes,” Mia says impatiently. “All the cafes I tried didn’t sell it. _Where did you get it?_ ”

Oliver deflates. “There’s a dessert shop nearby...”

“What? Why haven’t I heard of this?”

“It mostly sells bubble tea?”

Realisation dawns on Mia’s face. “ _Oh!_ No wonder! I hate tea, you know, so I always looked away.” She smirks, slapping Oliver on the back. “C’mon, it’s about time for a break anyway.”

Each step to _Matcha & Milk_ has Oliver’s stomach churning. It was his _secret_...and what if she _sees_ something between him and Robin?

There’s a line, so Mia takes the time to look at the menu. “ _Ollie_ , they’re _cakes_ here too. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, of course,” she chuckles. “I know you don’t like sweet stuff that much. I still remember Nicky’s face when you spat out those dark chocolate brownies.”

 _Because it was bitter as hell!_ Nicky had skimped on the sugar—in which case, what's the _point_? Oliver sighs heavily.

Finally, they’re at the front of the queue.

“Afternoon, Oliver—” Robin’s face stills, his eyes darting over. “And?”

“Hey Robin,” Oliver says. “This is my coworker, Mia.”

“Coworker,” Robin repeats. “How may I help you today?”

“Dalgona coffee, please,” Mia immediately says.

“Of course, and—”

“An americano,” Oliver says, a little begrudgingly, already internally cringing at the bitterness. “Put it all on one bill,” he adds, handing over his loyalty card. 

Mia gives him a look that he ignores. “You have a card.”

“Supporting local business, Mia.”

Mia snorts, but her expression is relaxed as she looks around the shop space.

Oliver bites back a sigh. He’s tense, and he’s trying desperately not to watch Robin, which is really making it worse. Robin’s moving swiftly between different parts of the kitchen and space behind the counter, turning this knob in the coffee machine, setting that to whip in the stand mixer—

Oliver frowns a little when he notices that there’s in fact another worker behind the counter, taking orders while Robin’s making drinks and vice-versa. They’re definitely _not_ around late at night when Oliver usually comes in.

Robin calls out their number, and Oliver quickly heads up with Mia to collect their drinks. While Mia’s drink is in a clear cup, Oliver’s cup is opaque.

He wants to say something more to Robin, but there are more customers, and _Mia_ is there, and so Oliver says the cringiest, “Thanks,” ever.

Robin gives him a tense smile back, and he’s off to serve the next customer.

Mia’s dalgona coffee is separated between white milk and pale brown fluffy coffee: it looks sweet and drinkable. In contrast, Oliver’s americano is water and bitter coffee. The coffee cup is warming in his hands, and Oliver cannot yet force himself to take a sip.

“This is actually _sweet_ ,” Mia says as she sips her own coffee. “One of my friends made it at home and said it was bitter. I can’t believe you drank _this_.”

“Nothing wrong with a sugar boost,” Oliver says defensively. “Clearly it depends on the amount of sugar your friend added.”

Mia rolls her eyes. “Didn’t mean to hit a sore nerve,” she says with a reassuring smile. “No shade on your coffee choices.”

Oliver heads to his office to nurse on his americano in private. When he finally sips it though, he realises that _it's sweet and creamy._ There’s even a touch of _chocolate._

He takes another sip and properly enjoys the taste. With the cream and chocolate, it tastes more like a mocha breve than an americano. Something in Oliver’s chest swells—for Robin had _known_ that Oliver wanted something sweet.

  


## 8\. Matcha and White Chocolate Brownies

It’s an exhausting day, and Robin’s seriously thinking of leaving soon after closing time, and waking up early tomorrow to prepare instead. But he _has_ to start the chilled cakes now. He just hates how cutting up the persimmons reminds him of Oliver. How the _matcha_ reminds him of Oliver, because he thinks Oliver would like the matcha mousse cake too.

It’s just that Robin is _bad_ with meeting friends of friends...and Oliver is a friend.

“ _Robin!_ ”

Robin’s head snaps up. “Oliver.”

Oliver yanks off his sunnies. “My drink this afternoon—”

Robin winces. “I know you asked for an americano—”

“Thank you! I actually liked it!” Oliver says in a rush. He’s breathing heavily, and his hair is askew.

“Oh.” Robin exhales, recovering his outward composure. “I’m glad,” he says with a small smile.

“And she—Mia—she’s just a co-worker. We work at the same production company. She has a boyfriend, you know?”

“ _Well_ …”

Oliver reddens. “It’s not like that!” He glares at Robin for a bit, but when Robin smiles back, he cracks with a groan. “You’re evil, Robin. _Evil_. And _I_ didn’t know _you_ had a coworker!”

“I’d be evil if I gave you a soy-sauce smoothie,” Robin drawls. “As kids, we used to dare each other to drink the _weirdest_ concoctions.”

Oliver laughs. “And so you went and became an expert on desserts instead.”

Robin raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. “How did you _know_?”

Oliver winks and taps the side of his head. “My mum always said I was a smart little cookie—oh damn. I forgot to ask her!”

“A distracted little cookie,” Robin smirks. “There’s always next time. And yes, _my_ coworker, Jenny, works during the peak hours, when it’s impossible to manage all the orders by myself.”

Oliver gives a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I guess your shop _does_ get really busy. What were you doing?”

“Making a matcha mousse cake.”

Oliver pouts. “You can’t just say that and leave me hanging.”

Robin gives him an indulgent smile. “You’ll just have to come tomorrow for a slice, don’t you?”

Oliver’s eyes shift to the countertop. “I suppose...”

Robin pauses for a moment, then says, “I have some matcha and white chocolate brownies in the back. I was going to test them as a mix-in for ice-cream, but I could serve with ice cream on top. You’ll like it.”

Oliver brightens. “You mean it?”

“On the house.”

“—No! I’m definitely paying! I want to support you.”

Robin huffs a laugh. It’s hard to resist Oliver’s wide eyes, but Robin’s used to battles over the bill. “I’m _not_ accepting your money on this.” He goes and flicks off the computer. “Oh, look, it’s turned off, I literally _can’t_ accept money.”

Oliver stares at him. “ _Evil_.”

Robin smirks. “Did my sweet-making persona fool you?”

“Then—how about dinner?” Oliver says, “On me.”

“I work through dinner time.”

“...Lunch?”

“I typically begin preparations for the shop.”

“Brunch?” Oliver’s voice takes a pleading edge. “I know this _great_ bagel place down near Flinders Street.” He’s leaning over the counter, eyes tilted up at Robin.

Robin’s heart inexplicably skips a beat. He fights the urge to rub his chest. “Very well,” he says. “Brunch.”

“This Sunday,” Oliver adds.

“This Sunday,” Robin confirms. “Now let me get you that brownie _a la mode_.”

Robin goes deeper into the kitchen and takes out a small container of matcha brownies from the fridge. He sets a few slices in the oven to warm up while he chooses the ice cream: vanilla and matcha, he decides, because he knows Oliver likes matcha, and the vanilla is delicate enough to not overpower the matcha.

Where the ice cream meets the brownie is melting a little as Robin slides the plate over the counter.

Oliver bits his bottom lip. “It looks good.”

“Go on.”

His eyes snap up. “You’re not going to try it too?”

“This is for _you_ , Oliver.” Robin pushes the plate a little closer.

“...Okay.” Oliver takes a small forkful of the brownie and matcha ice cream. For a moment, his brows draw together, and then he relaxes with an, “ _Ohhhh_.”

Robin’s chest warms as Oliver tries different combinations of ice cream and brownie, little lick of his tongue on the fork.

There’s just _something_ about watching Oliver enjoy Robin’s cooking that itches Robin’s recipe development brain. Something sweet and nostalgic.

Soon, Oliver’s eaten all of the ice cream, and there’s just a single bite of brownie left.

“Let me get you some more ice cream,” Robin starts.

“I want to save it, you know? For breakfast tomorrow.” Oliver sighs, worrying his bottom lip. “I’ve never had white chocolate brownies before, let alone _matcha_.”

An inexplicable warmth grows in Robin’s chest. It’s... _adorable_ that Oliver has thoughts of saving a single bite. “Oliver,” Robin says warmly, “I could wrap another one up for you.”

Oliver shakes his head, and eats the last bite. “No, I’ll just have to come back to try a new dessert, don’t I?”

“Of course. You’re always welcome.”

They share lingering smiles, and it’s only after multiple confirmations of date and time for Sunday that Oliver finally leaves. Robin waves him goodbye again through the glass, and turns back to the rest of his preparations with a lightness in his feet.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a * star on the Americano scene because it wasn't actually an americano 😂
> 
> Now, I don't actually drink coffee. But matcha is YES


	4. Chapter 4

## 9\. Smoked Salmon & Avo Bagels

Oliver fidgets in front of his mirror, trying the sunglasses on, then off again. He looks unapproachable with them on—especially now that it’s firmly autumn in Melbourne. With a groan, he hangs them off the collar of his shirt and ruffles his hair, teasing the curls.

Oliver grimaces. What is he _doing?_ He’s not like one of the singers at the company, and Robin’s seen him all washed out at the end of a long work day.

When he arrives at the dessert shop, he finds that the main lights are off—but some lights deeper inside are on. The main door is locked, though, and nervously, he taps against the glass. To his great relief, Robin sticks his head out from the back, holding up five fingers. Oliver nods, and turns round to face the road and wait.

And fidgets with his sunglasses.

“Sorry about that,” comes Robin’s voice. “I just wanted to get some things prepared.”

Oliver slips his sunglasses on the collar of his shirt and turns round. His mouth dries. He is used to seeing Robin in that long blue apron—and mostly just the top half of it, too. But now he can see how fitted Robin’s shirt is—are those tiny little _cake_ cufflinks?—and the hug of his jeans to his legs, and up the curve of his—

“So where was this bagel place you mentioned?”

Oliver snaps his eyes back up to Robin’s face, heat rising to his cheeks. But Robin looks curious, not suspicious.

“Er yeah, we could walk from here or take a tram. I don’t really mind either.”

“Walk, then,” Robin says. “How often do we get to bask under the Melbourne sun?”

Oliver grins, relaxing. He’s already memorised the way, and the two of them fall into step.

“At least you have an entire glass front to your shop,” he says. “My office window shouldn't really _count_ as a window, since all I see is the building next over.”

“And all I see is traffic,” Robin returns, a smile curling his lips.

Which of course means they talk about Melbourne traffic and the horror that is their public transport system—while Oliver walks to work, Robin has to commute everyday.

They talk about their families—Robin has a younger sister, while Oliver has an older brother and a younger brother. They share the mutual pain of growing up with siblings—but also the fun when they gang up together against their parents or other sibling groups. There’s a little _zing_ in his chest when Oliver finds out that they’re the same age.

“You must be a little older if your birthday’s in a few weeks,” Robin teases. “How does it feel to have grey hairs?”

“I’ll have you know that my father didn’t go grey until his fifties.”

Robin smirks. “Because he went bald first?”

Oliver shoves him shoulder-to-shoulder, but he can’t help but return the smile.

Oliver’s steps are light as they walk, and in no time at all, they’re outside a bagel place down one of Melbourne’s little lanes.

“Table for two?” the harried server asks.

They end up being squished in the corner on a table more suitable for one, and there’s nothing Oliver can do about how their legs are pressing against each other under the table.

Thank _goodness_ Oliver already knows what he wants to order.

“Any recommendations?” Robin asks as he glances down the menu.

“...Everything?” Oliver says.

Robin’s lips quirk. He holds Oliver’s gaze for a moment, consideringly. “With my close friends and family, we would buy two different items and share half each. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Oliver’s eyes widen. “Oh, sure, of course!”

Robin’s smiles properly now, and the two of them place their order, along with tap water.

“—I know a lovely dessert place nearby that has a certain matcha mousse cake just for you,” Robin says.

“...We should have had dessert first. We’re _adults_ now,” Oliver groans, and joy fills him when Robin laughs. His legs shift closer against Oliver’s under the table.

“And I suppose the perfect day for you would consist of dessert for all meals,” Robin smirks. “I knew someone from baking school who could make those illusionary desserts—the ones that looked like other food.”

Oliver automatically pulls a face. “But it doesn’t _look_ sweet.”

“How about the ones that look like fruit?”

“But you make such good fruit desserts already.”

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “Thanks.”

The server comes back with their orders: a smoked salmon and avocado bagel, and a roast cauliflower and hummus. They do an awkward shuffle to move one half onto each other’s plates, and mutually decide to try the smoked salmon first—Oliver’s original choice.

Oliver bites in, and _oh_. He has a sweet spot for desserts, true, but bread always tastes a little sweet to him. The bagel is a little crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, and pairs well with the creaminess of the avocado and the smoked saltiness of the salmon. Pickled red onions and capers add sharp flavours that complement the dish.

He’s already halfway though it before he remembers to look up, surprised to find that Robin’s looking at him with an unreadable expression.

With some dread, Oliver asks, “Wait, do you like it?”

  


## 10\. Matcha Mousse Cake

_“Wait, do you like it?”_

Robin blinks, and the world rushes back into his ears. “Of course, it’s very good,” he quickly reassures Oliver. He picks up his half of the salmon bagel and takes a bite. It seems to convince Oliver enough to return to eating.

The bagel _is_ good—Robin can appreciate all the different elements that have come together. But it’s unusually difficult not to focus on _Oliver_ eating. From the flutter of his eyes, to the swallow of his throat. Oliver _enjoys_ it wholeheartedly.

Perhaps it’s because Robin hasn’t enjoyed simply eating for so long—so much of his work involves taste testing, and he has to be critical about it.

They move onto the roasted cauliflower and hummus, brighter with its addition of tomato and lemon. 

“I just realised,” Oliver says, when he’s finished but Robin’s not. “It’s been over a month since I started coming to your shop.”

Robin blinks, and swallows his food. “Has it been that long already?”

“And yet, I still don’t know your favourite colour,” Oliver jokes. “Or what football team you root for.”

“Ah, but there lies strife and misery,” Robin says, lips quirking. “My sister supports the women’s Carlton Blues, and whatever you supported before no longer matters.”

Oliver makes a mock gasp of surprise. “Your sister is even more evil. So _that’s_ where you got it from.”

“She’ll recruit you for saying that.”

“Recruit?”

“Into her evil organisation.” Robin winks. “You’ll start out as a henchman first. But don’t worry, you’re pretty enough to climb the ranks quickly.”

Oliver laughs, and his cheeks are flush. Robin’s chest tightens inexplicably. Oliver is just so…

“ _Handsome_ is the word you’re looking for,” Oliver says, smiling and tilting his head. “You want to head out, now?” he asks, motioning to Robin’s now empty plate.

Robin forcefully relaxes his shoulders. Is _handsome_ really the word he’s looking for? “Sure, there’s cake calling your name.” He insists on splitting the bill, but Oliver ends up paying it all.

“You know,” Oliver says, as they’re walking back to Robin’s dessert shop, “You never told me your favourite colour. Avoiding it, hey?”

“Interested for some reason?” Robin drawls, just because he can.

Oliver flushes. “Okay, _there goes_ my birthday plan for you!”

 _Cute_ , Robin thinks, is the word he’s looking for, which doesn’t make sense because Oliver’s the same age as him. Robin pushes these facts aside.

“It’s green,” Robin says, after enjoying how flustered Oliver is. “Matcha green.”

Oliver’s eyes brighten. “Oh, yeah. What about creamy colours? Brown chocolate? Red strawberries?”

Robin hums. “Are those your favourite colours?”

“Not blue,” Oliver says, wrinkling his nose. “Not many desserts are blue, are they?”

“There _is_ butterfly pea flower tea,” Robin says. “There are some nice pictures of it being gradiented from purple to blue.”

“Well, if you made it, then I’ll like it,” Oliver says. “It just reminds me of when my older brother mixed blue paint with water…”

Robin gives Oliver a pat. “There, there, I’m sorry for your traumatic experience.” His hand slides off Oliver’s shoulder as they arrive at his shop. He unlocks it, and takes Oliver to the back.

Oliver’s eyes are wide. “Wow, it’s _tight_ in here.”

“A lot of commercial kitchens are, actually,” Robin says absently. He pulls out the matcha mousse cake from the fridge, and cuts up two slices—the larger one is for Oliver, being sure to get in two strawberries on top.

“It’s on the house again, isn’t it?” Oliver says in a put-out tone that doesn’t at all match the bright anticipation in his eyes as he accepts his plate. “I’ll have to ask you out to brunch _again_.”

“Oh, the _horror_.”

Robin already knows how the mousse cake tastes—silky and creamy matcha that melts on your mouth, with the slightly tart strawberries to help cut through the sweetness.

Oliver lifts a forkful to his mouth, and his eyes widen before they flutter. “ _Ohhh-hmmm_. This is so good!”

Robin lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “It’s one of my favourites.”

“I can see why!” Oliver scoops some more, and that blissful expression comes across his face again. Robin’s heart skips a beat. He quickly tries to focus on the fact that Oliver eats desserts much more slowly than those bagels.

“At your age, I’m surprised you haven’t had more cakes,” Robin says lightly.

“ _You’re_ an outlier dessert maker and should not be counted,” Oliver says. His eyes fix on his cake. “And my brothers never liked sweet stuff anyway.”

“Your friends?”

Oliver pulls a face. “They like spicy stuff—it’s always a competition with them.”

“Hm,” Robin nudges Oliver’s foot with his own. “I think they might enjoy something sweet more than you or they realise,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be _sickly_ sweet, either.”

Oliver shrugs, not quite meeting Robin’s eye. He has some more cake, instead.

“Well, more for you then, isn’t there?” Robin tries. “You can always come to me for something sweet.”

Oliver’s eyes flicker up, and a small, shy smile grows on his face. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Robin says quietly back.

Oliver’s tongue darts out, licking his lips. It’s quiet in the back of the shop—it’s the only reason why Robin can hear his heartbeat for some reason.

And then—then they both look away, and take another scoop of their respective cakes, and Robin’s left wondering if he’d just made up that feeling.

  


## 11\. Slices of Cake (but not for Oliver)

Before Oliver leaves, he makes sure to buy some cake for his mum. He takes the train down to his home suburb immediately after his brunch with Robin, and his mum picks him up from the station.

Oliver follows her inside the house. “Mum?”

“What’s that, honey?” she says curiously at his little packed box, complete with curling _Matcha & Milk_ and sheer green ribbon.

“For you, mum,” Oliver says.

His mum frowns at the words. “Dessert? It’s not mother’s day already, is it?”

Oliver huffs. “Can’t I give my mum a present whenever because you're my _mum_?”

His mum fixes him with a look. “Is there something you want, Ollie?”

“OHH, Olly-boy!” Oliver’s older brother, Cameron, stomps into the kitchen. “What do you have there?”

“ _Be quiet!_ ” Oliver’s younger brother, Henry, yells from the other room. “I’m trying to study here! Some of us have exams!”

Cameron ends up helping their mum open the box, revealing inside two slices of cake.

“This one is mango, and this one is chocolate-coffee,” Oliver points out.

“That’s really gay of you,” Cameron says.

Oliver glares at him. “Then I’m not getting _you_ cake,” he scowls.

Cameron makes a _pfftt_ sound. “I don’t eat cake. Give me a cold beer instead.”

“Well, this is very thoughtful of you,” his mum says, after telling Cameron off for mentioning alcohol so early in the day. (Cameron sulks out of the room.) “But…”

Oliver’s stomach drops. “Yeah? I thought you would like these.”

“They were very expensive, though, weren’t they?” his mother says, grimacing. “I could have bought a big chocolate cake from the supermarket for the same price.”

“Mum,” Oliver says, exasperated, “I’m _literally_ living in the city. It’s nothing. You worked so hard for us—this is nothing compared to all that. And _Cameron_ doesn’t want cake anyway, so this is enough for you to eat without it going bad.”

His mum gives him an exasperated look. “When did you get so sassy, Ollie? Fine, I’ll have it after.” She shoves him out of the kitchen. “Now go play with your brothers so I can cook.”

“But _mum_ —”

“No arguing, young man.”

Oliver ends up in the living room, where Henry has his desk and all his work. As the youngest of them, he’s still at uni. “Where’s Cameron?”

Henry snorts. “He’s probably next door annoying the dogs.” On cue, there’s loud barking.

“He never grows up, seriously,” Oliver says. “Aren’t oldest siblings supposed to be responsible?”

“We can’t all be stars like you,” Henry says.

Oliver rolls his eyes. “I’m _not_.”

“Didn’t think _you_ liked cake either,” Henry says. “You always gave your Easter chocolate to me.”

Oliver smirks, lunges forward to scrub Henry’s head. “Cos you’re my little brother, Henwy.”

“UGH!! Get off me!” Henry says, grin on his face. He sniffs. “I need that noggin for my bloody exams.”

“ _No swearing!_ ” their mum calls out.

Henry pulls a face. “Are you _sure_ I can’t crash at your place, Ollie? _Anything_ to say the f-word.”

Oliver smirks. “Is that really worth it? You’ll have to eat my burnt pasta.”

“...And on second thought, nah thanks,” Henry says, as he always does.

“Saw the dessert shop on my way back from work,” Oliver adds, casually. “The guy there helped me pick out those flavours for Mum.”

“A _guy_ at a cutesy dessert shop?”

“Most professional chefs are men,” Oliver says.

Henry pulls a face. “Right.” He sighs and stands up. “I’m not gonna get any work done. Wanna watch some footy replays?”

“Do you have anything on the Carlton womens’ Blues?”

Henry blinks at him. “What?”

“...Nevermind, whatever, I missed the match on Thursday.” _Because I was talking with Robin._

Oliver’s chest tightens as he watches the match between Richmond and Port Adelaide—mens. For all that he loves his family, he’s also glad he’s been able to leave this environment. And if he didn’t live in the city, how likely would it have been to stumble across a certain delightful dessert shop?

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love having matcha cakes for birthdays :P
> 
> OH and I changed the dessert shop name to "Matcha & Milk" because I realised it would make much more sense lol!


	5. Chapter 5

## 12\. Cookies and Cream Milkshake

There’s a new catchy tune on the local radio that Robin leaves open at the shop, a light and upbeat thing, and clearly well liked as it replays multiple times in the day. It keeps him feeling calm as he fulfills the orders—it’s an unseasonably warm day in Melbourne, and there’s a spike in iced bubble tea and ice cream requests. His one coworker, Jenny, arrives at one in the afternoon and leaves at nine in the evening.

By that point, Robin’s tired too, but he keeps making drinks for the remaining customers passing by, as well as handling the delivery orders.

A lot of that tiredness falls away the moment Oliver comes in. Robin begins to smile, but then Oliver’s posture—eyes downcast, shoulders droopy—registers.

“...Are you alright?” Robin frowns.

Oliver blinks. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “You can tell your sister that I checked out the Carlton Blues for her. That way I won’t start at an entry-level position, right?”

“Hmm.”

Oliver looks even more tired than Robin, his curls all messed up, shirt wrinkled, and— _sloppy_ , but in an unintentional way.

Robin leans a little over the counter. “Did your mum like the cakes?”

Oliver brightens a little. “Yeah, I think she did. She was _really_ surprised about the mango.” He smiles sheepishly. “I think we’ve just been really unlucky with picking the sour ones.”

Robin gives him a commiserating smile. “You _could_ try googling it.”

“My mum, _google?_ ”

They share exasperated smiles.

Oliver breaks it with a sigh. He leans against the counter on the other side, and looks to the large board of desserts Robin has on the side wall. “I don’t think my brothers like desserts, though.”

“I’m sorry.” Robin studies Oliver’s profile: the slight downturn of his lips, and makes a decision. “I think I have something you’ll like.”

Oliver turns to him. “Yeah?”

“How do you feel about oreos and chocolate?”

Oliver’s lips quirk up. “Funnily enough, the few things I _did_ have as a child.” He pulls out his credit card expectantly.

“I haven’t even told you what it _is_.”

“But I trust you, Mister Dessert Connoisseur.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, fighting against a smile at the word _trust_. “I think _you’re_ the one becoming the connoisseur.”

He accepts the payment—for now—and starts making the milkshake. He blends vanilla ice cream, milk, oreos, and cocoa powder. Taking one of the eat-in glasses, he fills it up a third, then sprays in whipped cream; then more of the oreo mixture so that the whipped cream looks like clouds against the brown colour of the smoothie. Another two layers of whipped cream, oreo milkshake, and the entire affair is topped with whipped cream high up above the glass, drizzles of chocolate sauce, followed by tiny cubes of chocolate brownie, chocolate pocky, and one whole oreo.

Robin puts the entire glass on a plate, along with a straw and a spoon.

“ _Seriously_?” Oliver says, eyes wide. “You just—kept adding more and more. The receipt just said _milkshake_.”

Robin smiles innocently. “Go on.”

Oliver grins and leans forward, licking the cream like a cat. He pulls out the pocky and takes a bite. “ _Oh_. Wow. How does something so tiny taste so good?”

Robin rolls his eyes when Oliver pulls off the oreo, twists it apart, licks it, and dunks it into the cream.

“Come _on_ , don’t tell me you never did that,” Oliver says.

“Well, yes,” Robin admits. “Those commercials were too good.”

Oliver’s eyes light up. “Oh man, do you remember the _milk_ commercial?”

Robin smirks. “Low fat, no fat, full cream?—”

“I just want milk that tastes like real milk!” Oliver laughs. He shakes his head and grins, turning the glass around. “You know if this was blue instead of brown, then it would _really_ look like clouds.”

“I didn’t think you wanted a blue milkshake right now,” Robin admits. “A bit _too_ adventurous for the time.”

Oliver’s grin softens into a smile. “Thanks, Robin.”

“You’re welcome.”

They talk about nothing and everything—Robin learns that Oliver can play the guitar _and_ the piano. Robin knows the piano because, of course, asian parents. A couple of customers come in, but not many.

By the time Oliver leaves, Robin’s glad that Oliver is no longer sad.

“See you again?” Robin says.

“I might be a bit busy this week…” Then, Oliver grins. “But I owe you another brunch.”

“You _don’t_ ,” Robin rolls his eyes.

“This Sunday, same time,” Oliver says, and leaves before Robin can protest.

Robin bites back a smile. He’s certainly not complaining, after all.

  


## 13\. Shakshuka and Croque Madame

Oliver _is_ busy that week. He doesn’t even drop by to grab a coffee—it’s faster to just make it in his workplace’s kitchenette. He thinks his coworker, Mia, has been there—he’s seen her carrying a familiar looking box—but he’s not comfortable asking her to buy something for him.

He tries not to feel guilty when he walks past Robin’s shop every night, and only waving through the glass.

By Friday night, his work hasn’t ended, but it _has_ eased, enough so that with a bit of extra work on Saturday, Oliver’s ready to relax and enjoy the Sunday morning with Robin.

When he arrives, he waves through the glass, and Robin comes out.

Nervousness wells in him, and Oliver tries to keep his glance of Robin cursory—from the blue shirt, to the tiny strawberry cufflinks.

“You’re early,” Robin says.

Oliver quickly looks away, facing the direction they’re walking. “Well, there was no point me hanging around home doing nothing,” he says casually.

“Or more time to enjoy dessert later,” Robin says.

“Right,” Oliver quickly agrees in relief. “Dessert.” He dares a glance at Robin. “How was your week?”

“The weather has been good, so business has been good,” he says. There’s a look in his eye, and a hint of smirk on his lips when he meets Oliver’s eyes. “I’ve been testing out some new recipes.”

“Have you?” Oliver says.

“There’s always _some_ kind of food trend,” Robin says, “But not all of them are suitable to actually _make_ —either because their taste is lacklustre, or the process is too time-consuming to work.”

“Do you _really_ test all the food trends?”

“Can’t trust the internet,” Robin says, rolling his eyes. He starts talking about some of the totally failed food trends and hacks, especially those touted by certain famous channels.

“It’s amazing what good production can do,” Oliver muses. He knows all too well how strategic editing can change the feel of a song or video.

At the restaurant, they combinedly order the shakshuka and croque madame; and the tables are too small to really ask for extra plates.

“It’s weird,” Oliver admits, as he slices the croque madame in half. The runny egg yolk oozes across the bread and plate. “Me and my brothers _never_ shared our food. It was a bit—whoever was faster got more. I mean—it wasn’t my mum’s fault.”

“Your dad?”

“He left when I started secondary. Don’t—it was good that he did, even if it meant my mum had to go at it alone. And whenever he comes back, it’s for my brothers, not me.” 

“It’s cultural, I imagine. I grew up with a dinner table filled with multiple different dishes,” he says, propping his chin on his hand and eyes on Oliver.

Oliver shifts the plate closer to Robin, but Robin shakes his head.  


“You can go first.”

“How about we eat _together_?” Oliver says.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Robin jokes.

On the count of three, they each bite into their half the croque madame. The bread is crispy, and the egg rich, and the cheese _cheesy_. Oliver loves the different textures, and it reminds him a lot of the grilled cheese sandwiches of his childhood.

Meanwhile, the shakshuka has a slight tartness in the tomato base, and spices that alleviate it up. They alternate between them, and Oliver feels as though each alternating bite is a new bite: just as good every single time. In between bites, Oliver sneaks Robin a look to ensure that he’s enjoying it too.

“Are you a good cook?” Robin asks.

“ _Well_ …” Oliver hedges.

Robin snorts, but he’s also smiling. “Instant noodles?”

“More like nutella on bread,” Oliver says sheepishly. “I usually get takeaway.”

“I _do_ approve of nutella on bread,” Robin says, eyes crinkling. “But I find it hard to believe you can’t cook _anything_.”

Oliver pulls a face. “Wait til you taste my _cooking_ —quote-unquote.”

Robin gives him an unreadable look, that looks scarily _fond_. “I look forward to it.”

“I—dinner? When do you even eat dinner?”

“After work, usually.”

“Late?”

“You get off work quite late too.”

Oliver stares, not quite believing what’s happening. “Are we planning a midnight dinner with _me_ cooking? We haven’t even had brunch-dessert yet!”

Robin blinks. “I...suppose I am.” He looks away. “Let me get the bill.”

“ _No_ , I am!” Oliver flags down the waitstaff for their bill, and smugly hands them his credit card before Robin can protest.

  


## 14\. Chocolate-Hazelnut Madeleines

Robin sneaks a look at Oliver as they walk back to the dessert shop.

 _They’re going to have dinner together_. Not today, but in the near future. Robin hasn’t had a private dinner with just one person for...for a really, really long time. It’s the nature of his friendship groups—they’re _groups_ , and while not everyone makes it to their get-togethers, there’s always a fair number of people.

That makes Oliver the first friend Robin has made one-on-one. It’s puzzling how _fast_ Robin’s gotten comfortable with him, even though Oliver’s a _customer_.

“...You _do_ want to try my cooking, yeah?” Oliver says.

Robin startles. “Yeah, of course.” He unlocks his shop and ushers Oliver inside. In the back kitchen, there’s a drying rack full of madeleines, dipped in chocolate and coated in coarsely chopped hazelnuts. Robin selects three on a plate, and hands them to Oliver.

Oliver bites his bottom lip. “They look like ferrero rocher and tiny cake in one,” he says, eyes staring at the madeleines. A moment later, he looks up. “I don’t know why you placed three here, but you’re having one too.”

“If you insist,” Robin says, long suffering. He holds back a smile when Oliver rolls his eyes, and selects one, and pointedly waits for Oliver to take a bite first.

It delights something in Robin to see Oliver’s first, cautious bite, and the slow rounding of his eyes as the flavours soak in. The madeleine is soft and buttery, the chocolate and chopped hazelnuts give both textural and flavour contrast.

Oliver takes a bigger bite. “ _Oh!_ ” he mumbles, holding it up. “It’s filled!”

“Not quite a whole hazelnut,” Robin demures: the filling of these is a creamy chocolate ganache. 

Oliver licks the filling with a grin. “ _Mmmm_.”

“Good?”

“Oh, yeah,” Oliver agrees. His eyes flutter, just a little, as he takes another bite.

It takes all of Robin’s willpower to look away. “Latte?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

Robin hums, and moves out of the kitchen. He mixes two servings of matcha powder and sugar with hot water. He pours heated milk into two cups, and the matcha goes on top. Robin tops them with milk froth and a dusting of matcha powder.

“I’m going to pay you back again, you know,” Oliver says, a touch of a pout as he accepts his matcha latte.

“Your home-made dinner will be priceless,” Robin smirks.

Oliver snorts. “That right, Oliver Campbell’s one-of-a-kind Michelin star dinner.”

“Campbell, the soup? Then cooking is in your genes,” Robin drawls.

“Noooooo,” Oliver places his hand over his heart. “How could you?”

They stare at each other for a beat longer, and both of them crack grins at the same time.

Oliver picks up his latte, and his smile softens as he sips. The milk froth clings to his lips, and he licks his lips before saying, “Matcha green, your favourite colour.”

“Matcha is _not_ the only thing that’s green,” Robin says. “There’s avocado, and mint, and pandan, and green apples, and green grapes; kiwi, and honeydew melon—”

Oliver grins. “Yeah?” he says teasingly.

Embarrassment fills Robin, and a little grumpily, he says, “Are you going to eat that third one? It’s for you.”

“Really?” Oliver looks at the remaining madeleine, then shakes his head. “Then I’ll save it for later.”

That’s... _adorable_ , Robin thinks. He packs it away in a tiny paper bag for Oliver.

“For our dinner plan,” Oliver starts. “I’ll need to check my schedule…. _and_ go grocery shopping.”

“Alright.” Robin chuckles, and pulls out his phone. “Give me your number.”

“Of course!” Oliver puts down his cup and takes Robin’s phone.

On receiving his phone back, Robin immediately sends him a text.

 **Robin Quan to Oliver Campbell: Hey there, Michelin star chef**.

And Oliver rolls his eyes as he checks his own phone, replying back to Robin, **Hey there, Michelin star dessert chef 🍰🍰**

 **Looking forward to dinner 😉** , Robin replies.

Oliver huffs a laugh and puts away his phone. “Seriously, you’re right in front of me!”

Robin shrugs one shoulder. “I had to get in the last word.”

Oliver laughs. “ _Evil_ , I tell you.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🍰 ❤️ ❤️
> 
> (I wishhhh)


	6. Chapter 6

## 15\. Vietnamese Iced Coffee

Melbourne is bustling in the weekday lunchtime. Oliver keeps a neutral expression as he walks back to his company, Vietnamese iced coffee from _Matcha & Milk_ in hand. They didn’t get to talk much—Robin’s working, _and_ customers and his coworker whose name Oliver doesn’t remember are there—but Oliver is simply grateful to see his face.

Oliver sips his coffee. It’s so _rich_ and _sweet_ and _creamy_ , more liquid dessert than caffeine shot.

“Ollie, finally, you’re back!”

In the lobby of the company building is a group of Oliver’s friends. They’re dressed in contrasting ways: Kyle is bright and colourful, and Nina wears even more black than Oliver. Anderson and Nina have guitar cases slung over their backs.

Oliver greets them. “Hey. I didn’t know you all had rehearsal today.”

“Nah, we were gonna meet with your boss,” Nina says, winking.

“But seriously,” Anderson says, his brows furrowing. “We haven’t seen you round for _ages_. Don’t tell me you quit drinking—”

“ _Or_ got a boyfriend,” Kyle smirks. “Or a fuck buddy—”

“There’s gonna be a queer night at the club this Friday,” Nina cuts in. “Some poetry slamming, some guitar jamming. You should come! Bring your guitar!”

Oliver freezes. “This Friday?” He clutches his coffee closer to his chest. At their nods, Oliver shakes his head. “I can’t make it. Plans.”

Kyle wolf-whistles. “I _knew_ it!”

Oliver glares at him. Kyle’s fun, but he’s also _annoying_. “They’re just a friend, alright? I don’t even know if they’re gay. You know my gaydar sucks.”

Nina goes all worried. “Don’t fall for a straight boy, Ollie,” she warns.

They all collectively grimace.

“But seriously,” Oliver says, “Is there anything I can help you with?” He’s well aware that his iced coffee is warming. “There’s coffee in the tearoom.”

“Ignore Kyle,” Anderson says somberly. “But come on, hang out with us sometime.”

Kyle makes a face. “Ollie’s getting too hot-shot for us.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “I’ll check my schedule, alright? We should grab lunch at a respectable time.”

He ends up escorting them up to see the production head manager before escaping back to his own office. His guitar is out, and the electric keyboard and computer are still on, waiting for him to return to his composing.

The coffee is now just slightly cold, but it’s just as sweet and creamy. Oliver’s lips turn up as he takes another sip and remembers the easy Robin had made, all precision and neatness. He sets down the half drunk coffee on top of some papers, and gets back to work, feeling very mischievous about the lyrics across the computer screen.

  


## 16\. Royal Milk Tea (but not for Oliver)

Robin carefully does up his shirt and bowtie before heading out of his room. His parents are at work now, but his sister is still in the house.

“Hey, Lark,” he says, leaning against the door to their home gym—i.e. the extra bedroom in the house.

Lark stops her deadlifts with a huge sigh. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to be late home tonight,” he says. “Tell mum and dad not to cook for me, right?”

Lark smirks. “ _Oh_ , my little brother has a _date_?”

“If it was a girl, would you think it’s a date?”

“ _Well_ , you could be more flexible than you realised…”

Robin rolls his eyes. “He’s the guy you pestered me about last week that I went to brunch with. You know, the one that looked up the womens’ Carlton Blues.”

Lark grins. “ _Oh_ , the one that’s getting ready to meet the family?”

“He’s a _friend_ and we’re having dinner.”

“During work hours?...Unless you’re going after work…” Lark smirks. “Unless you’re going to a bar or club…”

Robin stares at her. “Just tell our parents that I’m having dinner in the city, alright?”

Lark’s smirk widens “Alright, alright. Have fun.”

“And you have fun teaching annoying kids,” Robin returns.

He leaves the house, driving to the station and taking the train up the city. As he enters his shop—a few hours before opening time—he flicks on the oven and takes in the delivery boxes of fruit and ingredients. Some of that fruit is specially ordered, just for today.

This morning, Robin decides to make himself half a serving of Royal Milk Tea. While the bubble tea franchises prefer using a powder, he steeps spices and Assam tea leaves. As it steeps, Robin starts on boiling the boba. The boba won’t finish in time for his drink, but he doesn’t need them. He strains the tea into a glass and adds warm milk and sugar to taste.

The milk tea is smooth and sweet, and the hint of spices warm it further.

Oliver would like it, Robin muses, warm feeling his chest.

But Robin has other plans for dessert tonight. He’ll have to prepare the fruits in the evening, but right now, Robin starts the meringue for the cake...

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC 😂 (the ~~date~~ totally friendly dinner is next chapter)


	7. Chapter 7

## 17\. Spaghetti

Oliver rushes home that evening to prepare before heading back out to Robin’s shop.

It’s now past closing time, and there’s just a hint of light open in the back kitchen.

Oliver shoots off a quick text to Robin. 

**Oliver Campbell to Robin Quan: guess who 😉**

**Robin Quan: A michelin star reviewer? 🤔**

Oliver snorts, and sticks his hands in his pockets as he waits. Not too long after, the lights in the back kitchen turn off and Robin emerges. He’s carrying a slim black backpack and a box in a plastic bag.

Oliver remembers to pull off his sunnies. “What’s that?” he says curiously. The box has the _Matcha & Milk_ logo on it.

Robin blinks. “Oh, this? Don’t worry about it. And good evening to you too.”

Oliver grins back sheepishly. “Hey there. My flat’s close by.”

They exchange _how-are-yous_ as they walk, and Oliver’s chest gets increasingly tight. He fumbles with his keys, but then finally, they’re in.

“And this is it,” he says, spreading an arm. “—You don’t have to take off your shoes.”

“I insist,” Robin says firmly, and continues to take off his shoes. His socks underneath are grey...with little cat faces on the ends. Oliver has to rip his gaze away.

He shows Robin the living room first. “You can leave your things here.”

Robin nods, while Oliver shifts uneasily. While his pride flag _isn’t_ hanging across the wall, he has made a conscious decision not to hide it nor the other pride stuff, like the collection of badges on the coffee table, or the gay books on the shelves. There’s even a little rainbow sticker on his guitar case leaning against the wall.

If Robin makes a face of disgust, if Robin looks away, then...

Robin leans his backpack against the sofa. “It’s a very nice apartment. And not a bachelor pad,” he says with a quirk of his lips.

Oliver rolls his eyes, relaxing. “You missed out, like five years ago.”

“This better go in the fridge, if you have space,” Robin adds, holding up the dessert box, because it _has_ to be a dessert box.

“Right! Yeah! Okay! I have some ingredients in the fridge, but we have to take them out anyway for dinner…I was thinking pasta. Oliver Campbell’s one-of-a-kind Michelin-star pasta.”

Thankfully, Robin laughs. He nudges his shoulder against Oliver ( _oh god their shoulders are touching_ ), and says, “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

The dried spaghetti and tinned chopped tomatoes are already on the kitchen bench. Oliver takes out the premade meatballs, shoves aside bits and bobs in his fridge, and makes space for Robin’s box.

“I hope you’re not _too_ hungry,” Oliver says, as he takes out a large saucepan.

“Hmm, nothing I can’t wait for,” Robin replies. He leans against the counter, watching as Oliver fumbles with the garlic. “Can I help?”

“I make this all the time,” Oliver says. “And you’re a _guest_.” He wins over the garlic skin, roughly chops it, and adds it to the saucepan. At least adding in the chopped tomatoes, basil, and salt and pepper is easy.

“It needs to simmer before the next stage.” Oliver turns the heat just to the high-side of moderate to speed it up. “I have Netflix, and cards, and boardgames?”

“Any,” Robin says easily.

They head back to the living room, and Oliver ends up turning on his TV and pulling up Netflix.

Robin watches with interest as Oliver scrolls. “You know, I don’t have Netflix at home. Me and my sister watch Crunchyroll instead.”

“There _is_ anime on Netflix,” Oliver defends.

“But it’s not OG, is it?” Robin drawls. “It’s very peculiar to see shows I’ve heard about only on the internet.”

Oliver ends up playing a whole variety of trailers for Robin’s benefit. It’s not hard at all to watch Robin from the corner of his eye. Is that a blink of _interest_ at the queer shows? Oliver’s an adult, damn it. He should just _ask_ and—

—something is burning.

 _Oh no_.

Oliver jumps to his feet and races to the kitchen. The sauce is burning, and so much thicker than it should be. Oliver turns off the heat and swears. He turns, and almost jumps back when he realises Robin’s right next to him.

“Robin, I—”

“Hey, it’s fine, Oliver,” Robin says. “We can still save it. Do you have another saucepan?”

“Y-yeah.”

Robin browns the meatballs, adding the unburnt top layer of sauce with additional water, while Oliver has the job of cooking the spaghetti. They plate together, topping with cheese and fresh basil, and it actually looks like dinner.

However, Oliver can’t help the disappointed sigh when they finally sit down to eat.

“We should have just gone out for dinner,” he says heavily.

“At _this_ time?” Robin nudges Oliver’s feet under the table. “It tastes good, I promise.”

“Says the man who’s drunk soy-sauce smoothies,” Oliver says. At Robin’s wink, Oliver snorts. “ _Fine_ ,” he says, his lips cracking a smile when Robin raises one eyebrow, and then the other.

The spaghetti _does_ taste good. It tastes better than it does when he’s eating it mindlessly while watching Netflix. The tomato sauce has a sweetness he appreciates—and Robin was much more patient in browning the meatballs than Oliver usually is. He grins when Robin goes back for more cheese—and then more cheese again.

“I should have just made mac and cheese,” Oliver realises, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I _adore_ milk products,” Robin says, tilting his chin imperiously. “Bubble tea, milk tea, fruit milks, hot chocolate, cake, cheesecake, cheese, low fat milk, no fat milk, full cream milk…”

Oliver can’t help but laugh.

  


## 18\. Cream and Fruit Chiffon Cake

Once they finish eating dinner, Robin takes great pleasure in taking out the boxed cake from Oliver’s fridge.

Oliver’s face lights up, and he preemptively takes out two new plates and forks.

“You know,” Oliver adds, “After this I’m going to owe you again. And we’ll have to have brunch or dinner again. Maybe even both.”

Robin bites back a smile. Oliver doesn’t look very put out about the notion at all. Robin takes apart the box instead, revealing its contents. “So,” he says, “You mentioned it a while back, but your birthday is tomorrow, isn’t it? Well, _today,_ now since it’s past midnight.”

Oliver’s eyes go round.

Robin lights up the candles he’d pre-packaged. “So this is for you. Happy Birthday, Oliver.” He also pulls out a small box with a bow on top, and presses it into Oliver’s hands.

Oliver blinks. His mouth opens. He looks at Robin, then back at the cake, then to the gift in his hands. He licks his lips. After a moment, he opens the gift first. “ _Oh_.”

Robin holds back a smile. “I noticed you liked my cake cufflinks.” For inside the box are two cupcake cufflinks.

Oliver shakes his head in disbelief, and his smile is on the side of incredulous. “Thank you, Robin.” He closes the box and holds it against his chest, and Robin’s chest warms at the protective gesture.

“ _And_ you made this cake! It’s way too big for just the two of us!”

“All the better for you to save some for later,” Robin says fondly. 

Oliver blushes. “Wow. I. Wow. Just. Thank you. I’ve never _seen_ a cake like this before.”

“That’s because you didn’t grow up asian,” Robin says with a small grin. “This is my childhood birthday cake—a light and airy chiffon cake, lots of cream, and decorated with fresh fruit. Now—”

Robin breaks into _Happy Birthday to you_ , and his grin widens as Oliver gets redder and redder. He _hip-hip-hoorays_ and claps, and once the song is done, he lays a quick encouraging hand on Oliver’s back.

“Make a wish.”

“You’re _so evil_ ,” Oliver grumbles. He looks away from Robin, worrying his bottom lip for a moment, and then blows out the candles.

“Do you want me to cut it or…?” Robin nudges the knife between them.

“If it touches the bottom, would you make me kiss the closest girl?” Oliver says with a scrunch of his nose.

Robin’s eyebrows go up. “Did you _really_ do that?”

“I usually end up kissing my mum on the cheek anyway.”

Robin can’t help but smile. “That’s very sweet of you.” His smile continues as Oliver ducks his head in embarrassment. “But no, I wouldn’t force you to kiss the nearest girl...provided you don’t force me.”

Oliver’s head snaps up. “I—no, of course not.”

“Then I’ll serve.” Robin cuts two neat slices, and pointedly nudges the larger slice towards Oliver.

Oliver rolls his eyes, but good-naturedly takes the plate. He picks off some of the fruit first—strawberries, kiwi and melon, and then goes in for the cake. His eyes flutter, and Robin finds himself leaning forward, just a bit.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s like eating _air_ ,” Oliver mumbles. “It just melts in my mouth. _How_ , Robin, _how_.” He goes in for a second bite without hesitation.

Robin’s chest swells with contentment. “The magic of baking,” he says. “Since it’s lighter than many other cakes, we serve larger slices.”

Chiffon cake is light and airy, and the cream is rich and fluffy. The fruit has just enough acidity to freshen each bite, making the entire cake extremely moreish.

Oliver grins, licking his lips of some stray cream. “I can understand why.”

Robin enjoys watching Oliver eat. Truthfully, Robin had grown sick of asian birthday cakes—he and his sister had them for every birthday, and Robin was never allowed the durian version for variety since his sister wouldn’t eat it. But watching _Oliver_ makes Robin appreciate the cake again, and he’s grateful for that.

After eating, Oliver attempts to teach Robin a board game, and it dissolves into them sitting on either ends of the sofa and just chatting—about childhood birthday cakes, and Oliver’s weird dream about matcha and avocado cake, and, oh gosh, cartoons and tv shows from their childhood back when they watched free-to-air tv.

  


Robin finds himself regretting needing to leave, but he has to, because the night trains in Melbourne are rather infrequent.

“...Well, you know where to find me,” Robin says, as Oliver lets him out of the building.

Oliver quirks his lips. “And you know where to find me.”

Robin smirks back. “Fair. Sweet dreams, hm?”

“And _this_ is what I get for sharing my dreams with you,” Oliver says. “D’you want me to—walk you to the station?”

“Ah, no. I know my way.”

“Right.”

“Okay, see you.”

“Yeah.”

They both look at each other, roll their eyes, and laugh. They make their farewells for real, and part, for now.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asian birthday cakes were my childhood 😂 (before I discovered matcha cakes)


	8. Chapter 8

## 19\. Matcha Mousse Cake Milk Tea

Oliver steps into Robin’s shop with a spring in his step. It’s late, and it’s been a few days since their dinner.  


There’s a customer, and Oliver waits (im)patiently. Once they leave with their milk tea, Oliver ambles up to the counter.

“Hey, there,” Oliver says with a broad smile.

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Good evening, how may I help you?”

Oliver rolls his eyes and whips off his sunnies. “I have something for you.” He holds up the Dymocks bag. “I saw it and immediately thought of you.”

“You thought of me,” Robin says, sounding amused. He takes the bag and pulls out the book—a collection of illustrations from the Great British Bake Off. He gives Oliver a pointed look. “Really?”

“I rather eat the real thing instead of just looking at the pictures, except I can’t cook,” Oliver says innocently.

Robin rolls his eyes and places the book to the side of the counter.

Oliver slides his credit card and loyalty card across the counter and pulls out his reusable cup. “So, what do you have for me today?”

“Did you make sure to mark out certain pages in particular?” Robin says good-naturedly.

Oliver face-palms. “I _knew_ I forgot to do something. You’ll just have to read my mind instead.”

“I’ll need to look at your eyes.”

Oliver blinks, meeting Robin’s gaze. “Yeah?”

Robin looks silently, directly. His eyes are dark brown and steady, and Oliver feels his ears heating up.

“A-hah! You want something sweet. I know _just_ the drink,” Robin says, turning with a wink.

Oliver pulls a face, trying to pretend to Robin—to himself?—that his heart _isn’t_ thudding traitorously. It’s so unfair how calm and direct Robin’s gaze is. Oliver forces himself to watch Robin making the drink: it looks a lot more involved than the usual milk tea.

Robin comes back with Oliver’s drink. “Matcha mousse cake milk tea,” he announces.

Oliver threads through a large straw, using it to poke the matcha mousse spread against the inside of the cup. “ _Actual_ mousse?”

“A little smashed, but yes,” Robin says.

“Hm.” Oliver’s first sip is milk tea: sweet and creamy and with the slight twist of black tea, a flavour that is quickly becoming familiar and welcoming. In his second sip, he gets some of the thicker matcha mousse, the grassy flavour highlighting against the creaminess.

It’s like eating mousse and drinking milk tea simultaneously. The mousse is so rich and smooth.

“It’s so _decadent_ ,” Oliver settles on. “It’s perfect.”

Robin gives him a pleased smile. “Thank you.”

Oliver watches curiously as Robin makes another drink, though this time the insides of Robin’s cup has a pale yellow cake—meticulously weighed out against the milk tea he pours in.

Oliver absently sips his drink, but he can’t help be curious, especially when Robin seems to be satisfied with its taste.

“What is it?”

“Durian cake milk tea.”

Oliver blinks. “Like. _Durian_ durian. The infamous fruit.”

Robin gives him an amused look. “Yeah, durian-durian. It’s a mild cake. Almost like a rich banana, almost coconut vibe.” He sips his own drink. “It’s good, though I should have a stronger option for people who really like durian. _I_ love durian.”

Oliver finds himself perversely drawn to the cup in Robin’s hand. “Does it actually taste good?”

Robin holds up his cup. “Have a sip.”

 _Using the same straw??????!!!!_ Oliver quickly glances at Robin, but Robin looks perfectly serious.

Hands sweaty, Oliver quickly puts down his own drink on the counter and leans over, sipping from Robin’s drink.

It tastes...almost like the chiffon birthday cake, in creaminess and texture. It’s a little caramel-y, a little banana-y, a little mango-ish. There’s a hint of a sweet-and-something-else aroma, but it’s not offensive by any means.

“I like it,” Oliver declares.

Robin takes a sip of it again ( _using the same straw_ , Oliver tries not to think about it too hard). “If you’ll like, I have some fresh durian in the fridge leftover from making the cake. Just a moment.”

...What has Oliver gotten himself into? He wasn’t lying when he said he likes the durian cake milk tea, but even he has heard the horror stories.

Robin comes out with a clear container and two small spoons.

The smell isn’t too bad. Just, _very_ strong, for all that Robin is quick in scooping out a spoon for Oliver, a spoon for himself.

The texture is creamy...and it’s not bad at all, Oliver realises.

Sure, the immediate smell might be a bit strong, but Oliver’s had blue cheese and this is _definitely_ a step up from that. And _under_ the smell, the caramel/mango/banana/coconut-like flavours intensify.

There is a bit of slight stringyness in the texture, but aside from that, the durian flesh is _basically_ already mousse cake.

“You...like it?” Robin says.

Oliver licks the spoon.

A small smile blooms on Robin’s face. “You’re after my heart, Oliver,” he says.

 _What?_ Oliver’s eyes widen. “Just because—I didn’t say that just to, you know—” Oliver looks at his hands, fighting the urge to pull up his sunnies and cover his eyes. “It’s a unique flavour.”

“No—um, I meant,” Robin shakes his head. His shoulders rise, then relax. “Do you want some more?”

“Er, yes, please.”

“Alright.” And now Robin’s smiling again.

The durian tastes more mild the second time, but maybe that’s because Oliver’s fighting the losing battle to smile foolishly back.

Robin’s lips quirk. He flips open the illustration book, and his eyes brighten. “I’ve never actually watched the Bake Off.”

“Since I have it on Netflix,” Oliver says boldly, “you’ll just have to come over to watch it.”

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “I do, don’t I?”

Oliver grins. “You do,” he says warmly.

  


## 20\. Boba Milk Tea Cake

Friday midnight finds Robin inside Oliver’s apartment once more. It’s a little more messy than before, but nonetheless feels familiar.

“I already ordered dinner,” Oliver says, motioning to the two large pizza boxes set on the coffee table.

“Oh, I was looking forward to your cooking,” Robin teases. He sets the cake box to the side as Oliver retrieves cans of soft drink from his fridge.

Robin looks over the seasons of the Bake Off. “You’ve watched them all.”

Oliver ducks his head. “Yeah. Well. Season Six is the best.”

The show is good, and the pizza is fine, but there are other things that hover at the back of Robin’s mind. Like the guitar case at the corner of the room, and the messy pile that is a pride flag shoved onto one of the bookshelves.

Like how Oliver keeps glancing at him.

He must think Robin is straight, and that feeling of being seen _wrong_ spreads uncomfortably over Robin’s skin.

The first episode ends, and Oliver pauses it. “Cake?”

“Sure.” Robin serves the cake: it’s a boba milk tea cake. The cake itself is flavoured with black tea, generously covered in tea-infused cream and topped with brown-sugar boba.

“You’ll be making milk tea ice cream next,” Oliver jokes.

“Don’t give me _too_ many ideas,” Robin says, quirking his lips.

Oliver grins in return. “I live to serve, clearly.” He goes in for some cake, and gives a hum of enjoyment that in turn makes Robin feel warm and satisfied and pleased. He likes making desserts that people, such as Oliver, enjoy.

“I can _actually_ taste the tea,” Oliver says with surprise. “And the boba are so _soft_ and chewy.” He takes another bite, and then glances at Robin. “This isn’t at the shop.”

“You’re _also_ my taste-tester,” Robin says easily.

“...So I’m the _first_?”

“You are.”

Oliver’s face lights up. “Wow, I’m so lucky,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Robin snorts. “Yes, Mister Campbell.”

“Next episode?”

“Sure.”

But as the second episode starts playing, those thoughts start to return to Robin’s mind. He finishes his slice of cake, and tries to focus on the show instead of the items in Oliver’s living room.

But Robin’s been thinking about it for a whole week. About Oliver. About telling Oliver. He doesn’t think it’ll go badly, but what if he makes too much of a big deal?

A curly-haired baker moves on screen, and Oliver’s leaning forward just a little.

“Oh, that’s pretty smart to use a syringe to inject syrup into the cake,” Robin says.

“And he’s gay too,” Oliver mumbles.

Robin’s heart races. _This is it, just say it—_ “Really? So am I.”

“Same.”

Something in Robin eases, and something else in Robin wants to jump into the air. _He knows. He’s gay too!_

The show continues. Robin doesn’t quite dare look at Oliver.

But as the silence drags, he _has_ to know what Oliver’s thinking. He turns to look. Oliver’s just turned to look, too, and their eyes meet.

Oliver groans, but there’s a wry grin on his face. “This would have been much easier if we met at a gay club. Coming out all the time _sucks_.”

Robin’s lips turn up in return. “Agreed.”

“ _But_. You agree he’s hot, right?” Oliver motions to the screen where the baker-who-used-the-syringe appears again.

Robin tilts his head. “He’s simply standing there baking.”

“You know what I mean,” Oliver says, a hint of grumble on his voice. “I wonder if he’s still single.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, leaning back and turning to Oliver. “Oh, so you like this season because of him? He lives all the way in the UK.”

“Let me dream, Robin.”

Robin grins, and that grin widens when Oliver glances back at him and reddens.

“You _really_ do like him,” Robin can’t help but tease. He fends off a cushion a moment later, but it’s worth it.

“Just _look_ at him!” Oliver says. “He can cook, and I bet he can do maths _and_ drive.”

“God-tier gay,” Robin says with a serious face, because he _can_.

Oliver smirks. “Exactly. I bet _you_ can’t drive.”

Robin narrows his eyes. “Of course I can. I just choose _not_ to park in the city.”

Oliver’s smirk widens. “Is that so?”

“Oh, look, your crush is on screen again.”

Oliver throws another cushion at him, but nonetheless turns to watch the screen. Honestly, it’s really cute, especially when Oliver unconsciously bites his bottom lip whenever a dessert appears on screen.

Robin’s chest swells at this easiness between them. He’s so glad for the day Oliver entered his shop, and he’s so glad that Oliver is now his _friend_. And maybe he’s being foolish, but he doesn’t want this to end.

Oliver glances at him, and Robin raises an eyebrow..

“Do you want another slice of cake?”

Oliver looks at him through his lashes. “Yes?”

Robin’s chest flutters, unable to stop the fond smile that emerges. “Then allow me.”

  


## 21\. Black Sesame Milk Tea

It’s not yet lunch, but Oliver drops by Robin’s shop right as it opens. His chest swells when he sees it’s just Robin inside.

“You’re early today,” Robin greets. “Any special occasion?”

Oliver grins, meeting Robin’s eyes over his sunnies. “What if I just wanted to see your face?”

Robin smirks. “What are you plotting now, dear Oliver?”

Oliver slides over his cards and reusable cup. “Hit me up, Robin.”

“So much trust,” Robin says.

“Now, now, don’t be evil.”

“Are you my hero?” Robin’s smile is easy, and he turns to make some unknown drink. Oliver refuses to read what it says on the receipt.

Knowing that Robin is gay—and Robin knowing that he’s gay too—has lifted such a _weight_ from Oliver’s shoulders. Maybe...Maybe Oliver has a _chance_? Oliver’s heart skips a beat when he remembers how they had _shared the same straw_ just last week.

By that point, Robin _must_ have guessed that Oliver’s gay, so...did he mean that indirect kiss? _Or..._

Oliver’s heart clenches.

Or is Robin just like that with close friends and family, in the same way he shares food with them?

Robin glances over and their eyes meet. A small smile graces Robin’s lips, and Oliver quickly straightens his jacket, heat climbing up his cheeks. Who _cares_ what Robin meant so long as he keeps looking at Oliver like that.

He watches Robin work, and the sounds of the shop are relaxing, and he wouldn’t mind bringing his laptop to work here. If only Robin’s shop is bigger, but Oliver understands that small business renting in Melbourne city is no joke.

Robin comes back with a grey and speckled-black drink. “No coffee in this one, just for you.”

“I _can_ drink coffee,” Oliver protests playfully, but he happily accepts his cup and takes a sip. It’s _nutty_ and roasted and a touch dark, but there’s no hint of bitterness at all with all the sweetness and creaminess of the drink; a beat later, Oliver detects the slight twist of milk tea.

“Black sesame latte,” Robin offers. “Instead of coffee, the milk is lightly infused with black tea.”

“Then it’s black sesame milk tea,” Oliver says, shrugging one shoulder.

“We’ll make a dessert connoisseur out of you yet,” Robin says, lips quirking up.

Two customers enter, and Robin’s co-worker enters a moment later. Oliver takes that as cue to leave. He exchanges a nod with Robin and heads out, slipping his sunnies back on.

Taste buds singing with sweet nuttiness, Oliver strolls back to work with his drink, light on his feet. To his surprise, his friends have appeared in the building’s lobby.

“Hey,” he greets them. “Back again?”

Kyle blinks. “That’s not coffee.”

Oliver curls the cup protectively against his chest. “You’re dodging the question.”

“So are you.” Kyle steps right up to him and narrows his eyes. “ _Matcha and Milk?_ You had a drink from there last time too, didn’t you?”

“It’s a black sesame latte,” Oliver grudgingly says.

“Huh,” Nina says, on her phone. “It’s nearby.”

“I didn’t know you liked sweet drinks,” Anderson says, brows furrowing.

Kyle looks at Oliver in a frankly scary way. “I want to see this shop.”

“Wait—aren’t you here to see someone?” Oliver tries.

“No, we wanted lunch with _you_ ,” Nina says. “If you can’t make evenings, you can make time now, right?”

“Yes, but.” Oliver frowns. But they’re his friends, so he pulls up a smile. “Sure.”

“ _Great_ ,” Kyle says. He peers at Nina’s phone, and leads the way.

...back to Robin’s shop. From the outside, Robin’s currently turned away, making something for his customers while his co-worker handles new orders. All they can see is his back right now, the way his shirt stretches over his shoulders.

Kyle’s eyebrows go up. “This is that straight boy you’re lusting over, isn’t it? Not bad,” he says. He cuts a look at Oliver. “Trying to win him over by buying his stuff?”

“It’s _good_ ,” Oliver says tightly. Yes, Kyle is his friend, but he’s still annoying.

“I want something,” Nina says.

Kyle smirks and heads inside, followed by Nina. Anderson waits outside; and with unease, Oliver heads inside.

Except, Robin’s finished, and has now switched places with his co-worker. His eyes immediately go to Oliver, a little frown forming when he notices the cup still in Oliver’s hands.

“Oh,” Kyle says. “You didn’t tell me he’s Asian.”

Oliver’s stomach drops, head snapping to Kyle. “ _Seriously_ , what the eff, Kyle?”

“It’s a bubble tea place, what did you expect?” Nina says.

Oliver looks desperately back at Robin. Robin’s smile is tight. He’d heard.

“Sorry,” Kyle mutters. “I don’t like bubble tea anyway.”

“How may I help you?” Robin says, a professional smile on his face.

Nina glances back at Oliver, and steps up. “Hey, can I have a chocolate hazelnut latte? Double expresso.”

“Of course.”

Meanwhile, Oliver nudges Kyle out of the shop.

“ _What_?” Kyle says, annoyed. “You never dated Asian guys before.”

“I’m quite sure he’s Aussie too,” Oliver says sharply. “Ugh—not that it even _matters_.”

Anderson, who’s been waiting outside, looks at them with curious eyes. “What happened?”

“A certain _Kyle_ needs to grow up.” Oliver refuses to say more.

Nina eventually comes out with her late, and she directs them to a small restaurant a walk away. Oliver sits next to Nina.

In the lull of ordering and waiting, Oliver quickly pulls out his phone.

**Oliver Campbell to Robin Quan: I’m _so_ sorry for my friend. He’s a dick head.**

**Robin Quan: No worries, enjoy your day :)**

**Oliver Campbell: You too :) 🎂**

**Robin Quan: 🍰 🍦 🍓**

**Oliver Campbell: 🥺 don’t tempt me**

**Robin Quan: 😂**

Oliver stares at the smiley face, but the unease in his chest remains.

“Are you _seriously_ going to stay annoyed with me?” Kyle says sharply.

“When you stop acting like a _brat_ ,” Oliver retorts.

“He’s straight, anyway.”

Oliver presses his lips together, staring down at his mostly finished drink that Robin made for him.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Okay, Oliver was going to not like durian, but if he did, Robin would be a lot more happy and would say “You’re after my heart, Oliver,” which I thought was clearly the way to go ❤️😂
>   * In their not-date dinner, Robin and Oliver are talking about Tamal Ray 😉
>   * Also, Robin is our dearly beloved oblivious boi 
>   * 😑
>   * Also, I have no idea what's up with my chapter lengths
> 



	9. Chapter 9

## 22\. Matcha Parfait

Robin fulfills a rush of last-minute delivery orders. After the last set is done and passed over to the delivery clerk, Robin cleans the front area and closes the shop to the public. Blinds cover the main glass facade, and with the front lights turned off, he heads to the back kitchen to prepare and bake the things he needs for the next day.

The last batch of ice cream has just gone into the freezer to chill overnight, when Robin receives a message:

**Oliver Campbell: Hey, are you still at the shop?**

**Robin Quan: Yeah?**

**Oliver Campbell: I’m outside.**

Robin’s heart rate picks up. He quickly moves some used utensils into the sink and heads to the front of the shop. Oliver is standing right by the entrance, sunglasses on and hands in his jacket pockets.

“Hey,” Robin says, unlocking the door. “Come in.” He locks the door again once Oliver’s inside.

“Hey.” Oliver’s eyes are downcast as he follows Robin to the back kitchen. He slowly takes off his sunglasses and fiddles with them.

“Do you want me to make something warm? Chocolate milk?” Robin prompts.

“No, about...my friends,” Oliver says, grimacing. “Kyle really is a dick head. He thinks you’re straight, too—but I didn’t know if I could tell him otherwise. He’s gay as well.”

“You can tell him,” Robin says. He leans back against the counter on one side. “Are you talking about the Asian comment? I _am_ Asian, you know.”

Robin takes the leap, because he doesn’t think Oliver is _fishing_ for this information, and adds, “My parents are ethnically Chinese, but they grew up in Vietnam before coming here. Huge mess because we don’t really fit in the Chinese-Australians nor the Vietnamese-Australians.”

Oliver briefly grimaces in commiseration, but it’s clear his mind is still elsewhere. “It’s...well we don’t really get a lot of gay Asians down at the club.”

“I’m used to it,” Robin shrugs, ignoring the pang in his chest. “You know how gay cruising apps are. No fats, no femmes, no Asians. Or for the ones who think they’re smart, no rice, no curry.”

“...I know.”

“Hey, it just lets everyone else know they’re jerks,” Robin says.

Oliver snorts. “Most of them are.”

“Which is why I downloaded them, and soon deleted them after,” Robin admits. He glances across the kitchen and the various things still out. “Let me make you something. Matcha ice cream?”

Oliver’s eyes briefly light up—and then a look of guilt goes across his face. “I’m not that hungry.”

Robin quirks his lips. “Then we’ll share,” he says, pulling out a clean parfait glass. 

“Well, if you insist…”

Robin inwardly smiles. “I _do_.” He sets the cream to whip and prepares the ingredients.

“I deleted those apps, too,” Oliver says as he watches. “I feel a bit old now, compared to those twenty-year-olds.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. “I sort of want to settle down. An apartment I can own, maybe, with this economy.”

“Agreed,” Robin says. “But finding someone to settle down with isn’t easy.”

Robin constructs the parfait by layering the glass with cubes of castella cake, sliced strawberries, sweet adzuki beans, matcha ice cream, and cream. The whole affair is topped with some warabi mochi, cornflakes, and one last scoop of matcha ice cream.

Completed, Robin places the parfait next to Oliver.

Oliver’s eyes are wide. “Seriously, you should have guys lining up when you make _that_.”

Something flutters in Robin’s stomach. “I _do_ , they come for drinks and desserts, and not just guys. I hope you understand.”

Oliver rolls his eyes, nudging Robin in the arm.

Robin smirks back. “We both know your type is that baker on the British Bake Off.” He hides a smile when Oliver reddens. Robin retrieves two spoons and hands one to Oliver. “You first, Mister Campbell.”

“His smile is _sparkly_ ,” Oliver grumbles. He goes in for the ice cream first, and his lips curve up. “Matcha ice cream is good every time.”

“It’s also really good with strawberries.”

Oliver smiles. “Oh, yeah. Those cornflakes though?”

“You’ll understand when you try it,” Robin returns pointedly.

“...Well, it’s your turn now..”

Robin accedes, taking a bit of ice cream and mochi. The mochi is soft and chewy, against the melt-in-mouth of the ice cream. He nudges Oliver with his foot while his mouth is still full.

Oliver licks his lips, and goes in for another spoonful of ice cream and cream and cornflakes, and his eyes light in that way that is becoming so familiar to Robin.

They end up alternating between bites; of course, towards the end of it, Robin pointedly pushes the glass towards Oliver for him to finish. For all that Oliver protests, Robin eventually convinces him.

“I owe you another dinner,” Oliver says, as he licks the last of the ice cream.

“Your enjoyment is payment enough,” Robin says smoothly.

Oliver’s ears redden, but his lips go up. “Yeah? Then if I make you dinner, you would owe _me_.”

Robin laughs. “Evil, Oliver, _evil_. Then you can help wash the dishes.”

“Now that’s _my_ line.”

But to Robin’s amusement, Oliver does help wash the dishes, and Robin puts him to some basic tasks in the kitchen as Oliver lingers, chatting about that particular gay baker—and about how there are gay bakers on the other seasons too.

“So that’s your type?” Robin teases. “Gay and bakes? I should have booked you a pastry masterclass for your birthday.”

“Gay and baking are two _very_ good things,” Oliver protests. “Why not have a man who can do both?”

“Hmm.”

Doesn’t _Robin_ fit those requirements? His breath catches for a moment as he stares at Oliver: the curls, the smile on his mouth. His chest aches when Oliver glances at him, and smiles.

But they’re just friends, aren’t they? And they’re just joking about Oliver’s type, he’s not _actually_ attracted to gay bakers.

“Done,” Oliver announces. “Anything else you want me to do, boss?”

Robin blinks, and shakes his head with a smile. “Bedtime for both of us.” Robin does the final checks, turns off the lights and ushers Oliver out.

“See you later?” Oliver says.

“You know where to find me.”

Oliver’s smile lingers, and it lingers in Robin’s mind even when they go their separate ways.

  


## 23\. Milo Mocha (Cafe Milo)

A few days later, Oliver is yawning as he heads to Robin’s shop as soon as it opens. He sees Robin through the glass—and automatically smiles in response—and one particular thought jumps back into his head:

_Do gay guy friends share matcha parfaits?_

It’s not that he and Robin haven’t shared food before—but not _dessert_ , eaten from the same dish. Dessert is _intimate_.

Oliver tugs off his sunnies as he enters the shop. “Hey.”

“Hey there,” Robin says. “Sleep well?”

“Har-har,” Oliver says, scrunching his nose. “I need something with coffee in it,” he admits, handing over cards and reusable cup.

Robin looks at him consideringly. “Alright,” he says, nodding. His lips quirk, then, as the music in the background changes. “Have you heard this song? It’s about coffee and love. Right up your alley.”

Oliver blinks, and his breath gets tight. “Er, yeah, I’ve heard it… You like it?”

Robin smirks. “It’s perfect.” He turns to start the expresso. “And can you believe it was made here in Melbourne?”

Oliver lets out a breath of relief. “Well, Melbourne, coffee, unsurprising.” To his pleasure, Robin laughs.

Oliver leans forward in interest when Robin pulls out a large family size tin of Milo. Two generous spoonfuls of it go in the cup with the expresso shots, then ice, milk, a swirl of whipped cream and drizzles of chocolate sauce.

“Cafe Milo,” Robin announces. “Enjoy, good sir.”

“Like a mocha, but make it Aussie,” Oliver quips, taking the cup. He licks off some of the whipped cream and inserts the straw in. The taste is so _nostalgic_ : Milo was a big part of his childhood. It’s more than just chocolate—there’s the malty taste too, the memories of drinking it with cold refreshing milk and laughter and playing with his brothers.

“It makes me feel both younger _and_ older,” Oliver says, wrinkling his nose. “It’s been so long since I had Milo.”

Robin’s lips quirk up. “What else was in your childhood?”

“Weetbix,” Oliver immediately says. “So much weetbix.”

“You don’t eat cereal anymore?”

Oliver grins sheepishly. “I literally woke up less than an hour ago, and my first meal is lunch.” He takes another sip, and licks his lips. “Say, my friends—I told them—you know—and they wanted to invite you to a poetry night at the club. Tuesday at 6pm, every second week.”

Robin shakes his head. “I have work.”

Oliver nods. “Yeah, I told them that too. But our midnight dinner is still going ahead right?”

“Midnight dinner,” Robin repeats. He’s... _smirking_ , and pulls something from one of the cupboards. “This is for you.”

Oliver perks up and accepts the book. On the cover, it says _Children’s Cookbook - Step By Step_. He flips through the book, rolls his eyes and grins. “ _Thanks_ , Robin,” he says dryly.

“My pleasure,” Robin says, sounding sincere. His eyes are sparkling, though.

Oliver tucks the book under his arm. “Look forward to some cutesy sandwiches for dinner then, _Robin_.”

Robin winks. “I will. Have a good day.”

“You too.” Oliver steps out of the shop, smiling.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, capitalising Aussie makes it look so...serious hahaha


	10. Chapter 10

## 24\. Dessert memes

On Saturday morning, Robin joins his sister, Lark, in her home gym.

“ _Now_ you’re interested?” she says drily, helping him out with the weights.

Robin makes a non-committal sound.

Lark raises an eyebrow in response, her lips quirking a little. “Unless you’re trying to show off. I’m sorry to tell you, but it takes _time_ to show results.”

“I’m merely improving my bone and muscle density,” Robin says coolly.

“Of course, I understand,” Lark replies innocently.

The chatter between them dies down though as Lark gets into her workout, and Robin to his. Thankfully, Lark does _not_ know that Robin is listening to the coffee song on repeat.

Eventually, Robin finishes his sets and claims the shower. By the time he’s done, Oliver has clearly woken up.

**Oliver Campbell to Robin Quan: SO**

**Oliver Campbell:**

[MEME: of car swerving. Signs: Dinner first, dessert first]

**Oliver Campbell:**

[MEME: no bake! only eat!]

**Robin Quan: 😎**

**Robin Quan: I should make a vegetable cake then.** [link to salad cake]

**Oliver Campbell: EVILL**

Robin chuckles, typing some devil emojis in return. He has to put his phone away to go and eat before he has to leave.

His mum is in the kitchen. “Breakfast?” she asks in Vietnamese. She starts pulling out a big bowl for the morning’s noodle soup.

“Yes,” Robin replies in kind. “Mum, I’ll be eating dinner out tonight.”

His mum frowns. “Why? It’ll be so late! You should be home! Where are you eating? It’s not a _club_ or _bar_ is it?”

“ _No_ , mum, I’m going to a friend’s house who lives in the city.”

“...Guy or girl?”

“Guy.”

“A _boy_ friend., or…a _boyfriend_?” his mum says, making a disgusted face.

“Friend,” Robin says shortly. “Mum, I’m an _adult_.”

“And you’re old enough to settle down,” she retorts.

Robin doesn’t reply, focusing hard on eating his breakfast.

“When your dad was your age, he was already married!” his mum continues.

“Well, this is Australia, not Vietnam or China,” Robin says mulishly.

He has never _outright_ told his parents that he’s gay, though his father has accused him of it—as though it’s a _crime_ —often enough.

“It’s bad that your sister wants to play _footy_ like the white boys.” His mum scoffs. “Where did we go wrong?”

Robin restrains himself from rolling his eyes at the _guilt_ trip. Instead, he pulls out his phone. It’s rude, but he doesn’t care, because his mum is being rude too. Oliver’s sending more memes, and Robin quickly sends little emojis back at him.

 **Robin Quan: Looking forward to the masterpiece you cook tonight** 😉

 **Oliver Campbell: So you’ll eat anything I make?** 😉

**Robin Quan: I’ll make sure you taste-test first, in case it’s poisonous.**

**Oliver Campbell: I’m wounded** 😢

 **Robin Quan** : 😈 😏

 **Oliver Campbell:** 😏😏😏

“You’re not even listening, are you?”

Robin finishes eating and goes to wash his dishes. “Please excuse me,” he says politely, distancing himself. “I’ll be back late, don’t worry about me.”

His mum scowls. “This conversation isn’t over yet,” she says warningly.

Robin turns away before rolling his eyes. _It’s never going to be over_ , he thinks. But he’s not going to dwell on it now, because he has dinner with Oliver to look forward to tonight, regardless of what his mum thinks.

  


## 25\. Mango Mousse Cake

It’s cold outside when Oliver goes to meet Robin. Robin is just closing his shop.

“Perfect,” Oliver says, grinning.

Robin turns and smiles back. “Hey.”

“Good night, right?” Oliver says.

“Hmm.” Robin falls into step next to Oliver. “I’m looking forward to dinner.”

Oliver’s grin grows. “You’ll love it,” he winks.

By the time they finish exchanging short how-are-you’s, they’re at Oliver’s flat.

“So,” Oliver says, as he heads to the kitchen. “I picked one of the sandwich ideas from the cookbook you kindly gave me.” He tries not to stare too hard at the boxed dessert Robin puts into the fridge, and instead opens up his new _Children’s Cookbook_. “Voila!”

“Fajitas?” Robin raises an eyebrow.

“It counts as sandwiches. Bread, filling. _And_ you have to construct your own fajita! I’ve already made all the toppings!”

Robin pats him on the head. “I’m _very_ proud of you.”

A tingle spreads across Oliver’s skin at Robin’s touch. He quickly bats Robin’s hand away. “You’re _evil_. _And_ I’m older than you.”

“So you are, old man.”

“And for _that_ , I’m having the larger slice of cake.” He arranges all the components and promptly starts building his own fajita.

“Done,” Robin says easily. “You don’t have extra hot sauce or chilli, do you?”

Oliver does, and brings out a practically full bottle of sriracha. “Kyle gave it to me,” he says, grimacing.

“Not everyone likes spice,” Robin says with a small shrug. “Thanks.”

“But he _knows_ I don’t,” Oliver says with a short sigh. 

Robin glances back up at him, lips twisting with concern. “Are things going alright with them?”

“It’s not bad,” Oliver says quickly. “It’s just that—Kyle’s fun when you’re in the mood, except he _can’t_ read the mood. But I don’t want to think about him right now, not during _our_ dinner.”

Robin’s lips tighten for a moment. “If there’s anything I can help…”

“Maybe stop being evil?”

Robin blinks, then his lips quirk up. He nudges Oliver’s foot under the table.

(Oliver’s heart skips a beat.)

“I think my sister has fully turned me, unfortunately,” Robin says. “But I know you love it, I have cakes, after all.” He winks.

Oliver’s ears heat up. “Now _that_ is called bribery,” he says.

“Hmmm. Or special treatment?”

Oliver nudges him back under the table. A beat later, both of them grin.

  
  


After dinner is done, Oliver leaves the dishes in the sink and pointedly takes out Robin’s dessert box.

Robin spreads a hand. “Be my guest,” he says, lips quirking up in amusement.

“Then I will,” Oliver says, affecting Robin’s more soft general Australian accent. Opening the box up feels like opening a present.

It’s a miniature mango mousse cake: a deep yellow gel top, pale yellow mango mousse and creamy coloured sponge. There’s even a _flower_ of mango on top, and the sweet mango scent is _so_ fragrant and reminds Oliver of warmer summer days.

Robin divides the cake, and to Oliver’s guilty pleasure, he’s given the bigger portion.

“I agreed,” Robin says. “I hope you like it.”

“Of course I will,” Oliver says. “And you _know_ it, so don’t pretend otherwise!”

Robin huffs a laugh in response.

They head to the sofa and settle down on opposite ends; Oliver sits with his feet up on the sofa because he’s That Kind of gay, and even Robin is seated diagonally, partially facing Oliver.

To Oliver’s pleasant surprise, the mango is fresh, with the slightest hint of tartness that balances extremely well with the soft and fluffy creaminess of the cake.

“You’d brought a mango cake for your mum, but you never did get to try it yourself,” Robin says.

Oliver blinks. “That was...so many weeks ago. Thank you,” he adds, turning his eyes back down to the cake. He dares to lengthen his legs out a bit, though making sure his feet stop short of where Robin’s sitting.

“You’re welcome.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes. And Oliver’s feeling...too bashful to look at Robin. Because that would be weird, right? Anyway, he’s taking in the beauty of the mango mousse cake that _Robin_ made for them.

“Your place really is nice,” Robin suddenly says. “The location is good, too.”

Oliver’s eyes snap up. “Thanks, you must have bad taste if you like my decor. It saves me commute time. And _stress_ of the commute time.”

Robin’s smile becomes a little wry. “ _And_ you don’t have to deal with your parents.”

Oliver groans. “ _Mood_ as hell,” he says. “My mum doesn’t quite know how to _deal_ with me sometimes.”

“My dad fluctuates from _accusing_ me of being gay to pretending I’m not,” Robin grumbles.

“At least your dad is talking to you,” Oliver counters. “He’ll be in the same room with me, sure, but he won’t _look_ at me.”

Robin’s lips twist. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Oliver sighs. He eats the last of his cake, deflated. “It’s—well, Dad’s a truck driver. So he wasn’t around often. And he left Mum, which meant he was around even less—which honestly is a good thing. I was already a huge disappointment compared to my older brother. Instead of footy, music was my _thing_. And then I came out, and that was that, really. Liking fancy desserts is yet _another_ girly and gay thing to them, and there were only some _approved_ sweet stuff we could have.” His eyes snap up when Robin’s hand pats his leg.

Robin doesn’t say anything, but it’s comforting nonetheless.

Oliver pulls his lips into a small smile.

“So _do_ you still play that guitar?” Robin says.

“Oh, yeah.” Oliver lurches to his feet to go and grab it. “I bought this one years ago with my first official paycheck, it was my dream guitar for ages.” He settles back on the sofa; this time, Robin’s drawn his feet up, turned to face him.

There’s a soft look on Robin’s face, and expectancy too.

Oliver tries not to blush. “So, er, you said you liked that coffee song?”

“Hm, is it that obvious?” Robin says sheepishly. “Do you know how to play it?”

“Yeah.” Oliver strums a few chords to warm up, and begins. It’s an upbeat tune, and his fingers move easily through the notes.

“ _When I was little, we only drank coffee one way…_ ”

Robin’s lips quirk up as the song describes the precise coffee-making method.

“ _It wasn’t bitter they said, but it was bitter, no chocolate notes to speak of. Was I just broken? But then I met you. A dash of milk, a dollop of cream, a spoonful of sugar…”_

_“It wasn’t bitter, they said, but it was bitter. But then I met you. Latte, macchiato, cappuccino, dalgona…”_

Robin snickers, his eyes bright and focused entirely on Oliver.

Oliver’s chest feels ready to explode. He finishes the song, and grins when Robin applauds.

“You’re amazing,” Robin says.

Oliver laughs with embarrassment. “I guess.”

“You _are_. Encore?”

Oliver smiles happily. “Okay.” He sings and plays some covers—an anime Robin’s mentioned, something recently viral on the internet, and other popular songs. A lot of them are romance songs, but there’s nothing Oliver can do about that.

And Robin’s clearly not complaining—he’s smiling, eyes bright, focused entirely on Oliver, and Oliver can’t help but show off, just a little.

  
  


“...It’s _really_ late,” Oliver realises belated, when he notices Robin’s blinks becoming slower. He checks the time. “It’s _really really_ late! Are there still trains at this time?”

“Oh, yeah.” Robin pulls a face and checks his phone. “I should get going,” he says, standing up. “Thanks for the evening, Oliver.”

“Thank _you_ , Robin,” Oliver counters, putting his guitar aside. “You know, I’ve definitely eaten over 20 desserts now. But I haven’t paid for them all because of _someone_ —wait, leave the plates, I’ll clear them.”

He hands Robin his jacket and pulls on his own.

“Come to the shop in the morning on Monday,” Robin says. “I’ll have something prepared for you. Don’t eat breakfast.”

“I _don’t_ eat breakfast,” Oliver says, curiousity piqued. “What is it? It’s a dessert, isn’t it?”

They head out of his apartment. “...Is it a coffee drink? Cake? Or—wait—a dessert sandwich?”

Robin smirks. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“ _Evil_ ,” Oliver says. He meets Robin’s eyes, and neither of them say anything. There’s an urge in Oliver’s limbs though, and before he can think about it too long, he steps forward and gives Robin a one-armed hug, before quickly stepping back. “I’ll see you on Monday then.”

Robin looks stunned for a moment. “Yes, of course. See you.”

Oliver farewells him, and finds himself unable to stop smiling.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed a lot of adverbs in this chapter. But ughhhhhhhh I can't be bothered hunting down "strong verbs" instead


	11. Chapter 11

## 26\. Morning Cereal Milkshake

It’s almost noon, and Robin is placing the new cakes under the display counter, ready for the upcoming day. The coffee song is on the radio again, and Robin can’t help but smile as he remembers Oliver playing it for him. And while Robin’s chest aches a little whenever the memory comes up, it’s not a _bad_ feeling. In fact, it feels really good, like Robin could walk on clouds.

There’s motion outside, and Robin glances up. His heart swells when he realises it’s Oliver.

“Hey there,” Robin says, definitely casual, as he leans over the counter.

“G’day,” Oliver returns with an exaggerated broad Australian accent. “How’ya doing today, mate?”

Robin's lips quirk up at Oliver’s antics. “Nothing much.”

Oliver nods with deep seriousness. “I have it in good word that there’s a package here for me today.”

“Oh? From whom?”

“From a Michelin star dessert chef.” He drops some cash on the counter, and gives a cheesy wink. “Ya wouldn’t happen to have it under the counter, do you?”

Robin presses his lips together. “ _Oliver_.”

Oliver pouts, holding up his rewards card. “Look! I’m almost at 20, aren’t I?”

At that, Robin cracks a smirk. He accepts the cash, “ _For now_ ,” he adds pointedly, and stamps the 15th circle on Oliver’s rewards card. “Eat in?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm.” Robin pulls out a large glass. To make the dessert, Robin pulls out multiple tubs of breakfast cereals. He blends cornflakes and Weetbix with milk til it’s a milkshake consistency. He builds the layers of milkshake, clotted cream ice cream and cereal—Nutrigrain and coco pops and Fruit Loops, and tops it with slices of strawberries and banana and a crumbling of Milo powder.

“ _Et voila_ ,” Robin says, presenting the completed dessert with a spoon and straw.

Oliver meets Robin’s eyes. “Is that—Milo too? It’s— _breakfast_ —” he shakes his head and laughs.

A warm glow spreads through Robin’s chest. “Come on, you haven’t even tasted it,” he says with a touch of fond exasperation.

“Okay, okay,” Oliver’s laughter transitions into a bright grin as he calms down somewhat. He sips, and makes a pleased sigh. “Oh wow, it tastes exactly like cereal milk. I haven’t had Fruit Loops in _ages_ …” He continues grinning between mouthfuls. “I can’t believe you literally made me _breakfast_.”

“If you can call ice cream breakfast,” Robin says.

“Ice cream. On pancakes. Definitely breakfast.”

“You’re right,” Robin concedes, lips quirking up. 

Oliver hums, low in his throat as he continues to eat. There’s a brightness in his eyes, and today’s Melbourne noon sunlight makes Oliver’s loose curls look soft and almost gold (not that Robin would be so presumptuous as to touch it).

“I think I’ll make this a new menu item,” Robin decides. “Should I name it the Ollie?”

Oliver gives him a mock glare. “Don’t you dare!”

Robin smirks. “Have you been enjoying your cookbook?”

“Maybe you should come by my place again to check up on my homework,” Oliver replies with a sparkle in his eye.

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should.”

“You’ll need to warn me ahead of time, so I can cram,” Oliver adds.

Robin makes an exaggerated grimace. “How could you, _uni_ flashbacks…”

“You went to university?”

“Business degree,” Robin admits. “And then baking school, to my parents’ dismay.”

“And to _my_ benefit,” Oliver returns. “How could we have met otherwise?”

“It’s so weird, isn’t it?”

“ _I’m_ not complaining,” Oliver says, and takes a pointedly large mouthful of cereal. “Friday midnight?”

Robin huffs a laugh. “Friday midnight,” he confirms, and reflects back the smile that’s also growing on Oliver’s face.

  


## 27\. Jackfruit Coconut Muffins

Oliver comes back on Wednesday morning, grinning as he saunters into _Matcha & Milk_. His emotions soar as Robin’s face brightens.

“Hey there,” Oliver greets.

“Morning,” Robin returns. “I had a feeling you’ll be back.”

“Did you?” Oliver slides over black rectangular box. “A gift.”

Robin blinks. “You—wait, what?”

“A gift is a present that one person gives to another,” Oliver slowly explains.

Robin raises one eyebrow at him, and opens it up. Inside, there’s a bowtie. A bowtie with _cake_ patterns on it.

Oliver grins widely when Robin looks up, both eyebrows raised.

“To match with your cake cufflinks!” Oliver says, doing his best to be serious.

Robin rolls his eyes, but his words are sincere: “Thank you, Oliver. They’ll match perfectly. Now, if you’ll wait a moment…” Robin goes into the back kitchen and returns with a gift bag.

Oliver stares. “Wait, _what_?” Glancing at Robin to affirm that _this is happening_ , he accepts the gift bag and pulls out the item inside.

It’s a small strawberry shortcake _plush_ , complete plush strawberry on top.

“...Oliver?”

“It’s _so bloody cute_ ,” Oliver says, giving it a squeeze. As he releases, it slowly expands back into its rectangular-y triangular-y cake slice shape. The fabric is soft, with just enough weight in his hands. “I can’t believe we _both_ got each other a gift.”

“Great minds think alike,” Robin drawls.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Oliver quips back.

Robin’s eyes crinkle, the corners of his lips going up. “And what were you after today?”

“Oh yeah,” Oliver quickly glances at the various items in the display counter. “Something to eat, and a coffee, if possible,” he says, handing over his cards.

Robin nods. He starts the expresso process, and takes a large muffin from the tray of muffins. “Jackfruit coconut muffin and a sweetened flat white,” he says. 

Oliver accepts the jackfruit muffin with curiousity. It smells tropically sweet, and he can’t help but take a bite.

There are pieces of fruit on top of the muffin—jackfruit, he assumes—and it tastes like mango and banana and pineapple rolled into one. The fragrant coconut notes hit second, creamy with the sweetness of the fruit, and the soft texture of the muffin itself rounds it all out.

“...Could I have another?” Oliver says. “These are much better than the stuff in the company kitchen.”

“On the house,” Robin says immediately.

“ _Robin_ ,” Oliver says sternly. “If this is how you operate, you’re going to go bankrupt!”

“But there’s only _one_ Oliver Campbell,” Robin says. He leans forward and winks. “Don’t tell the manager, alright?”

Oliver’s cheeks warm up. “ _Ugh_. You _are_ the manager.”

  


A few minutes later, Oliver’s leaving the shop with the gift bag and bag of muffins (one half eaten) in one hand, and his coffee in the other.

He _still_ can’t believe that Robin _got something for him_. Should he put the cake plush on his bookshelf? Should it go on his bed...

His friends—Nina, Kyle and Anderson—are in the lobby of the company building, and Oliver’s smile doesn’t dim a bit.

“Morning!” he greets them.

“...Who are you and where is Oliver?” Nina teases. “...Hey, isn’t that from that dessert shop?”

“No comment,” Oliver says.

“And _that?_ ” Kyle points to the gift bag. He moves into Oliver’s space and peeks inside. “It’s something?”

“It’s a _gift_ ,” Oliver says sternly. “Surely you’ve heard of such things.”

Kyle’s chastened, and he takes a half step back. His eyes narrow. “From that guy?”

“...Yes.”

Kyle gives him a look of surprise, and then pulls a smirk. “I _see_. No _wonder_ you haven’t been down to the club lately.”

“The one you said is gay?” Anderson says slowly.

“Yeah,” Oliver says. His lips tighten. “I need to get to work."

“ _Ooooohhh_ ,” Kyle says, leering. “I’m surprised you’re carrying that gift around in public.”

“I _really_ should start clocking in for work,” Oliver says flatly, holding the gift bag and muffin bag against his chest.

“Is he serious?” Nina asks, brows furrowing.

“What do you mean? We’re _friends_.”

Kyle scoffs. “Er, clearly _not_. How old are you, again?”

“Why don’t you bring him with you to a poetry reading then?” Nina continues. “As your friends, it’s _imperative_ that we meet him.”

“I _told_ you, he has work.”

“Lunch?”

“Also has work.”

Nina’s eyes narrow. “Is he purposefully avoiding meeting _us_? That’s not a good sign, Oliver.”

Oliver stares at her in disbelief. “What the eff—that’s seriously not it! Have you _seen_ his opening hours? He’s busy!”

“No way he works seven days a week,” Kyle says. “We both saw there were other workers.”

Oliver scowls.

“Brunch,” Nina says. “You know it’s a sign of an abusive relationship if—”

Oliver’s lips twist. “ _Fine_ , I’ll ask if he wants to do an _early brunch_. But I’m not promising anything.”

“Just batter your eyelashes,” Kyle says slyly.

Just then, Mia appears across the lobby. She immediately waves at him. “Oliver! Finally, come on, we have a meeting with the music director,” she says.

“Of course!” Oliver quickly says bye to his friends (and ignores Nina's reminder) and hurries to Mia’s side with a grateful smile.

Mia looks back at him. “Is that the mango muffin from that bubble tea place?” she asks, peeking at muffins through their clear bag.

Oliver blinks at her in confusion as they enter the lift. “No, it’s jackfruit.”

“Never heard of jackfruit. I thought the mango muffin from there was really good though,” Mia says.

“I bet it was,” Oliver says, smiling a little to himself. Is it weird to feel proud that other people like Robin’s desserts?

“If you want, I could give you half of my second muffin.”

Mia’s eyes narrow. “...Are you offering for real?”

“Yeah. Really.” He shifts the bag of muffins to Mia. “I trust you to split the uneaten one in half.”

“Thanks,” Mia says with a smile.

And that’s how they end up eating jackfruit muffins side by side in the meeting.

  


## 28\. Teh Tarik Ice Cream

It’s their Friday night dinner that Robin has been looking forward to all week. Robin’s very amused at the curious look on Oliver’s face when he puts the bag containing dessert into the freezer. 

“It’s definitely ice cream,” Oliver says confidently.

“Well, Mister Campbell, dessert comes _after_ I grade your dinner attempts.”

Oliver glances at him. “Is that so, Mr. Quan?” he says, looking up through his lashes. “I hope you don’t punish me…”

...A beat later, Robin’s cheeks heat up. “ _Dinner_ , Oliver,” he says sternly.

Oliver bursts out laughing. “Take a seat, the food will be along shortly.”

Dinner turns out to be a pasta bake. Oliver serves them both a portion.

The cheese top layer is crisp, and the pasta bake itself rich; Robin appreciates the fresh basil on top.

“Robin…”

“Yeah?”

“Er—so what’s my grade?”

There’s clearly something else on Oliver’s mind, but Robin answers him. “Hm, a B?”

Oliver pouts, and for all that it’s playful, Robin’s heart skips a beat. It should look ridiculous that a grown man is pouting, but it _doesn’t_. Robin wouldn’t be surprised if many men—and women—had crushes on Oliver. Especially since Oliver plays the guitar, too…

Robin’s heart pinches tight.

“Robin?”

“A B-plus,” Robin manages to say. “A little above average.”

Oliver grins. “Thanks. I worked _really_ hard on this, you know.” He looks down a moment later, fiddling with his food.

Robin remains silent, waiting for Oliver to speak. His heart starts to race a little. Could Oliver be about to—

“Robin,” Oliver finally says, grimacing. “My friends _really_ want to have brunch with you. Well, any meal or meeting would work.”

Robin blinks. That’s _not_ what he’s expecting, and he hates the feeling of disappointment. “Any reason?”

Oliver pokes at his food. “They...er, they _really_ want to meet the person who’s caused me to fob off poetry nights...”

“I recall that those events start early in the evening. There’s no reason why you can’t attend them.”

Oliver makes a face. “It takes me a long time to cook,” he says, a little defensively. “And I definitely don’t want to be drunk and half asleep by midnight.”

Robin exhales a fond smile. “Oliver…”

Oliver shakes his head. “It’s fine, I told them not to expect anything.”

“Oliver,” Robin repeats. “It’s alright, I’ll attend brunch with your friends.”

Robin’s admittedly wary of meeting Oliver’s friends, but he can’t stand seeing how down Oliver looks, and he doesn’t want to be the source of the rift between Oliver and his friends. “How did you meet them?”

“Oh.” Oliver smiles tentatively. “Is it cliche to say at a gay club? We all played instruments, and we just happened to be...backstage, if you could call it that, together afterwards. And we tried to play something together and it worked pretty well…”

Robin ignores the twinge of jealousy in his gut—he’ll be meeting these people, after all—and does his best to listen and encourage Oliver to talk.

  


As dinner concludes, Oliver clears the dishes.

“You take out dessert,” he commands. “And wait here.”

Robin raises one eyebrow in amusement as Oliver darts off into the other room. But dutifully, Robin takes out the ice cream from the freezer, and his container of waffle cones he’d prepared earlier.

“I _knew_ it was ice cream,” Oliver says smugly as he returns. He has a small gift bag at hand. “First. This is for you.”

“Oh, trying to bribe me for something?” Robin teases. He opens the bag to find socks with cake patterns on them.

Oliver worries his bottom lip. “I know you have your cat socks, but you know….”

Robin gives him a small smile. “Thank you, Oliver. How am I going to top this?”

Oliver pulls a face. “By giving me ice cream?”

Robin snorts, and shakes his head in amusement.

Oliver has become a lot more playfully demanding, but Robin likes it. Perhaps they’ll get to the point where _thank-yous_ are no longer required, when a thank-you is too formal for the intimacy they share. 

Under Oliver’s expectant gaze, Robin scoops ice cream into a waffle cone, and hands it over, before serving some for himself. Belatedly, Robin realises he should have made waffle cones of a different colour—the ice cream is a brown, and so is the cone.

“It’s _definitely_ not chocolate,” Oliver mumbles. He sticks his tongue out and licks. His brows furrow together in exaggerated thought, and Robin wants to lean over and smooth the skin, tangle his fingers in those curls...

“Condensed milk,” Oliver announces. “And tea—black tea.” He goes for a bigger portion, mouth and lips against the ice cream, eyes smiling. “It’s so _soft_ , it’s almost soft-serve.”

“This is teh tarik,” Robin informs him. “The original drink is hot and almost foamy. I can make it for you another time.”

“Yes please,” Oliver says immediately. 

Robin leaves the rest of the ice cream in Oliver’s freeze, and the waffle cones on the counter. After they finish eating, Oliver flops down on the sofa in the living room.

“Bake off?” Robin suggests.

Oliver grins smugly. “You’re hooked. But. You said you played piano, right? Because I may be crap at cooking together, but maybe we could play something together?”

“Ah,” Robin says. “I _played_ piano. I haven’t practiced for years, and the upright piano at home is basically a glorified shelf.”

Oliver stares. “Nooo, how _could_ you?” he says hand against his chest. “That’s _sacrilegious!_ ”

“ _I’m_ not the one who did music at uni,” Robin counters.

Oliver chuckles, his eyes bright. “That makes _you_ the chef in this relationship, and me the musician.”

His tone is light and sounding quite pleased. A fondness wells in Robin’s chest.

“In _that_ case, I made you ice cream,” Robin says in return. “And yet you haven’t played any music for me.”

Oliver’s grin turns into a smirk. “Why, you didn’t have to ask. Take a seat, Mr Quan,”

Robin settles on one end of the sofa and puts on a polite, expectant expression.

Oliver settles on the other end, guitar settles. He taps something on his phone, and music starts to play.

Robin tries not to smile, but he ends up grinning anyway when Oliver starts his rendition of _Never Gonna Give You Up_.

  


## 28.5 After

Robin sits with his backpack on his lap on the train home. His heart twists in his chest. He presses his lips together, glancing out through the window, not that he can see anything more than darkness outside and the reflected image of the train carriage and other commuters.

The rest of the ice cream is back with Oliver, as are the extra waffle cones.

In Robin’s bag, however, are the cat socks that Oliver bought for him.

Robin’s had heart-skipping moments before. But when Oliver _pouted_ … the way Robin’s heart behaved was absurd.

He doesn’t really want to think about it, but his subconsciousness knows anyway. Has probably known for a while, but with Oliver’s image stuck in his mind, it’s loud, Inevitable.

He likes Oliver.

He likes Oliver’s bright smile. Oliver’s lips around a spoonful of Robin’s dessert. Oliver’s voice as he sings to Robin, just Robin.

Robin’s heart aches in his chest. How could Oliver even like him back? Robin’s just a small business owner. Robin still _lives with his parents_.

And Robin hasn’t really seen how Oliver interacts with his other friends. Maybe Oliver’s sweet and charming to everyone, and Robin’s not special at all, really, he just happens to make good desserts, and it doesn’t bother him, _really_ , that Oliver just hangs around for sweet treats.

The lyrics of _Never Gonna Give You Up_ , in Oliver’s voice, strikes Robin’s heart. Did Oliver mean those words to _Robin_ as he sang them? Or was he just singing them, as lyrics to a song?

His phone buzzes. Robin quickly pulls it out, perking up at Oliver’s name.

**Oliver Campbell: Hope you’re home safe! And thanks for the ice cream 💙**

**Robin Quan: Almost! And you’re welcome. Next time, I’m helping you wash the dishes.**

**Oliver Campbell: Nooooooo 🥺**

**Oliver Campbell: [link to kitten video]**

Robin swallows, heart swelling.

He really, really likes Oliver.

Robin buries his face in his hands.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Cereal is definitely dessert
>   * Muffins are definitely dessert
>   * I REALLY love jackfruit. I love it as much as durian, but I will always recommend jackfruit first for obvious reasons 😂
>   * Consistent chapter lengths? Never heard of such a thing 😂 Also, I wanted to add in that last scene in on this update so 👀
> 

> 
> NOW. I'm getting to the end of my buffer, and can envision maybe 20 more scenes of the main story. So if there is something you'll like to see before the story ends (certain characters meeting each other? A certain dessert? Or perhaps smut 😉), then feel free to request now!


	12. Chapter 12

## 29\. Teh Tarik

**Oliver Campbell: Morning! Have a good day! 🧡**

**Robin Quan: You too!**

Oliver stares at the message and sighs. The shop is still closed this time in the morning, and Oliver has to get to work on time (i.e. before noon) again. Which is usual, actually, but increasingly annoying when he wants to see Robin before work.

*

“Hey, Oliver?”

Oliver tugs off his headphones and turns around as Mia pokes her head in through his office door.

“What’s up?” he says.

“Can you run to that dessert shop and buy some cupcakes? You know the one.”

Oliver perks up. “Sure. What’s the occasion?”

Mia smiles sheepishly. “It’s Annie’s birthday, and I forgot. We’re going out for dinner tonight, but I need something right now. I have a quick meeting with her in a few minutes, if you could just run out? I’ll reimburse you!”

Oliver’s already shrugging on his jacket. “How many? Any particular flavours?”

“A dozen should be enough, everything there is good so your choice.”

“Leave it to me,” he says, slipping on his sunglasses.

It’s the afternoon now, and sprinkling rain means that the streets aren’t as busy as they usually are. The shop is still busy though, and Oliver has to swallow his disappointment and selfishness—he _wants_ Robin’s shop to do well.

He heads inside after two people walk out, fingers running through his curls, droplets of water clinging to them.

There’s no Robin behind the counter. Instead, there’s the familiar looking coworker (Jenny, Oliver finally remembers) and _another guy_.

“Hello, how may I help you?” Jenny says brightly.

“Er, where’s Robin?”

Jenny blinks. “Oh, he’s baking right now,” she says.

“Oh.” Oliver deflates, glancing at the display counter. “Can I get those cupcakes? Yes, one of that, and that…” He picks out twelve cupcakes, and a small selection of macarons for good measure, and hands over his credit card. “If you could package that up nicely, thanks.”

“Of course! Just a moment.” Jenny goes off to retrieve ribbon, and the new guy takes her place and receives orders from the people next in line.

Oliver glances at the shop board advertising popular and new drinks, and quirks his lips when he sees that the Cereal Milkshake is now on it.

“...Oliver? Hey.”

Oliver’s heart leaps to his throat. “Robin!” he says, and blushes at his outburst. He’s glad his sunglasses are still on. Robin hands a new matcha cake to Jenny to place on display.

“Your order?” Robin asks, handing the clear bag with two boxes inside. “Did you want something to drink, too?”

“Er, well...”

Robin glances around the shop, and his lips quirk up. “I promised you teh tarik, didn’t I?”

“But that’s not on the menu?” the new guy asks.

“Then I’m definitely paying for it!” Oliver says immediately, pulling out his credit card again, along with his loyalty card.

The new guy gives Robin a wide-eye look, while Jenny narrows her eyes between Oliver and Robin.

“Same price as a hot chocolate,” Robin finally says. He goes to prepare the drink while the new guy punches in Oliver’s order.

“Now, it takes a bit of space, if you don’t mind,” Robin says

Oliver frowns. And realises what Robin means a moment later. Robin has two metal jars, and only one is filled with the brown-caramel coloured teh tarik. But then Robin starts pouring it into the other jar, all the while lifting the first jar higher and higher. The teh tarik pours in a smooth _curve_ , and the pour goes higher and higher and higher and _how does Robin keep it from spilling?_ By the final pour into a plastic cup, the drink has lightened in colour and the top is frothy and fluffy.

Robin leans over the counter. “Here you go.”

“I—what.” Oliver takes the cup, still in puzzled awe of what Robin just did.

Jenny rolls her eyes. “You’re such a showoff, Robin,” she says, nudging him good-naturedly.

“ _No_ , I promised him!” Robin protests. “Go on, Oliver.”

Oliver takes a sip. Warm-hot, creamy milk tea coats his mouth, and it’s foamy and light and sweet, just as Robin had promised. “It _is_ good.”

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “I’m glad.”

Jenny shifts in front of Robin. “Hello, how may I help you?” Jenny asks the new customer.

The customer smiles sheepishly. “Is teh tarik a secret menu item? Can I have that? And record you making it?”

Jenny glances to Robin. Robin blinks. “Yes, that’s fine,” he says.

“Well, I’m going now,” Oliver mumbles. “See you later, Robin.”

Robin’s smile is distracted, but that’s okay, Oliver tells himself. He’ll just text Robin later.

Back at the company, Mia takes the bag of cupcakes and macarons with a relieved smile. “Thanks a tonne, Oliver! This is the receipt, right? I’ll transfer you.”

“Yeah, sure.” Oliver goes back to his office and sips his teh tarik.

He’s not moping. He got to see Robin in the end, _and_ saw some extremely dramatic tea pouring. There’s no reason why he should feel so _off_. 

Except, it doesn’t feel enough. He wants to see Robin properly. He wants to talk, to sit close to him.

Oliver groans. Why do adults have to have _jobs_??

  


## 30\. Sweet Dreams

Robin’s staring aimlessly out the train window when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, breath catching when he sees Oliver’s name.

**Oliver Campbell: What are you doing right now?**

**Robin Quan: On the train home. What’s up?**

**Oliver Campbell: Nooooothing**

**Robin Quan: 😏 What are you doing?**

**Oliver Campbell: Procrastinating going to bed**

**Robin Quan: What about your beauty sleep?**

**Oliver Campbell: !!!!!!**

**Oliver Campbell: I can’t believe some random girl has footage of you making teh terik and don’t have a single picture of you! So unfair! 🥺🥺🥺**

Robin’s heart skips a beat. He wishes desperately that Oliver is here with him, and it’s so teasing that he can hear Oliver’s voice as he reads the texts.

**Robin Quan: We’ll have to take a photo next time…**

**Oliver Campbell: Oh yeah, Nina sent this.**

**[Screenshot of Nina’s text: location & time for their brunch]**

**Robin Quan: Thanks, I’ll be there.**

**Oliver Campbell: What did you do today?**

**Robin Quan: Made desserts. So much desserts. Very many desserts.**

**Oliver Campbell: 🥺🥺🥺**

**Oliver Campbell: 👀 Any for me?**

**Robin Quan: 😉**

They continue chatting, up until Robin arrives at his station and has to stop.

**Robin Quan: Have a good night! *Sweet* dreams**

**Oliver Campbell: 💙**

Very, very carefully, Robin returns with, **❤️❤️** , and half hopes, maybe, that Oliver will take it the right way.

* * *

Oliver stares at the two hearts Robin’s sent him, emotions battling between tentative joy and _no-no-don’t-overthink-it_. He rolls around in bed—where he’s been lying while texting to Robin—trying to shake off the resultant jittering feeling.

Oliver is being serious though about now having any pictures of Robin. He opens up _Matcha & Milk_’s instagram page and surfs the hashtag. Success! He finds the recording of Robin making teh tarik. The video quality is not too bad, though it fails to capture Robin’s handsomeness.

Oliver should sleep. The low sounds of Melbourne at night filter through his window. In fact, it’s so late that it’s early, and he has work tomorrow, but...He looks at the recording one more time, eyes tracing the concentration on video-Robin’s face. He flicks through their message history, at the little hearts in their chat. With mighty effort, Oliver puts his phone down on the bedside.

Robin’s indulgent expression fills Oliver’s mind, and tingly shudder goes down Oliver’s spine. Oliver recalls the way Robin looks at him when he’s eating. How Robin’s eyes shift between his mouth and his lips and his hands. How they’ll sharpen when Oliver licks his lips and his fingers.

He wants Robin, so much.

The duvet feels too hot. Oliver shifts absently, annoyed, until he realises he’s half-hard. He automatically tugs down his boxers and wraps a hand around his cock. He rubs slowly, firmly, twisting a little to the end and revells in the little sparks of feeling. If he can just _come_ , then he’ll be able to relax and sleep. His hand moves faster, thumb swiping the precome oozing out.

Does Robin shower in the evening or in the morning? Is Robin getting ready for bed now? Stripping off his shirt?

Oliver’s cock pulses at a twist of his fist. Oliver stiffles a moan with his other hand. He imagines Robin focusing on him _now_. He imagines the picture he’d present: messy hair and flushed cheeks. Would Robin want Oliver to move his hand away from his mouth so that he can hear the sounds Oliver’s making?

Oliver’s fist moves faster. His hips arch off the bed a little. Pleasure spreads from the tip of his cock and outwards.

_What other things would Robin like to watch Oliver eating?_

Robin’s dark brown eyes fill Oliver’s mind as he comes all over his fingers, and he keeps wanking for as long as he can bear it, body trembling in the aftershocks.

Then Oliver exhales and relaxes, warmth replacing his prior jitteriness. He cleans up the mess and tosses the soiled tissues in the bin. Tugging his duvet back over, he drops off to sleep, Robin’s smile blooming in his chest.

  


_Oliver wakes up next to Robin, warm glowy light softening his features, catching his eyes. Robin reaches out, fingers about to touch Oliver’s lips, and Oliver opens his mouth obediently..._

  


Then, Oliver wakes up for real.

... _Fuck_.

The sun is lighting the edges of the room, but that’s not the reason why Oliver drops an arm over his eyes.

 _Oh fuck_.

Robin’s face comes easily to mind, and Oliver’s traitorous cock stirs at the whisper of repeat activities.

How the hell is Oliver meant to look at Robin now? Oliver should have—could have—at least constructed a more elaborate fantasy. When did he become a teenager again and wanked over the image of someone’s _face?_ Next thing he’ll know, he’ll be rutting in his _jeans_ , which, hell no, Oliver’s supposed to be more mature than that.

Though if Robin wanted to, then Oliver wouldn’t be adverse…

 _No!_ Oliver stuffs a pillow into his face. _Get a grip!_ Robin sending _two_ hearts instead of one doesn’t mean that Robin suddenly likes him!

And with how carefully Robin looks at him, he’ll definitely immediately realise that Oliver wanked off to him. And he’s going to be having brunch with his friends _and_ Robin in just a few days. Oliver is so fucking screwed—

Oliver snaps into a sitting position, eyes zeroing onto his bedside table. Of course! His sunglasses!

  


## 31\. Gingerbread scented showergel

It’s morning of the day that Robin will have brunch with Oliver’s friends. _And_ he’s going to have dinner with Oliver later at night. It’s a little cloudy and gloomy, but there’s a trembling feeling in Robin’s chest that threatens to burst out as an embarrassed smile.

Robin really should get going soon—he needs to prep for the shop before the brunch. He’s already picked out his shirt and cufflinks, and he’ll be wearing his favourite jacket, but he doesn’t know whether he should bring along the gift in its gift bag on his desk. Would it be awkward to give it to Oliver while Oliver’s friends are there?

...and is the gift itself _too_ weird?

A huge sigh comes from behind him. 

Robin turns. His sister, Lark, is leaning against the door frame to his bedroom, her arms crossed.

“What is my little brother stressing over _now_?” she drawls. “Is that a present? Someone’s birthday?”

“No, it’s just a random gift.” Robin hesitates, and pulls out the item from the bag to show Lark. “Do you think a gingerbread scented shower gel is a bit weird?”

Lark stares at him. And smirks. “It depends what kind of message you’re trying to portray. It’s Oliver, isn’t it? Are you trying to send the message that _you’re thinking about him showering? Naked? Wet?_ ”

“What, no! He’s my _friend_ , and just because we’re both...doesn’t mean—” Robin bites back his protests, wary of digging himself into a hole in front of his sister. He takes a short breath. “Look, Oliver gave me those cake socks last week, so I need to get him something in return.”

Lark snaps her fingers in Robin’s face. “You _idiot_. What kind of person gifts novelty _socks_ and expects something in return? Oliver clearly likes you!”

Robin’s heart pinches tight. “That’s not possible. We _are_ friends—”

“ _CRUSH!”_ Lark groans. “He probably has the biggest crush on you, seriously. I can’t believe you’re _still_ oblivious to this.”

Robin narrows his eyes. “I’m _not_ oblivious. You haven’t even met Oliver.”

Lark stares at him. “You told me he _played the guitar_ for you. I bet he practically played love songs. For _you_.”

Robin softens, recalling those nights. How Oliver sang the coffee song...and not that he’s going to admit it to his sister, but Oliver _had_ sung actual love songs.

But surely that’s because the majority of popular songs these days are romantic in nature?

“Don’t you ever do that with your friends? I remember you playing a lot of kpop love songs.”

“Playing from youtube, not literally playing it on an instrument directed only to you.” Lark shakes her head. “And I bet you don’t even realise that you like him back.”

Robin scoffs. “What are you talking about? I know my own feelings.”

Lark tilts her head. “Do you know Oliver’s?”

“Don’t be so presumptuous.”

“Ugh, _men_ ,” Lark mutters. “Well,” she says more loudly, “I think Oliver would like the shower gel.”

Robin snorts. “Okay, thanks, Lark.”

Lark quirks her lips. “If you don’t come back home tonight, just send me a text and I’ll sort out Mum and Dad.”

Robin smiles wryly. “Thanks..”

Lark smirks. “So don’t you worry about Mum and Dad. Have a _good_ day.” She leaves.

Robin packs the showergel into his backpack.

Of _course_ Robin knows that he...that he like-likes Oliver.

That he...likes him so much that he wants to _kiss_ him...

Robin’s heart skips a beat as he imagines touching Oliver’s lips with his fingertips. If Oliver leans in over the counter the shop, like he usually does, but closer, and Robin leans forward too, and they meet in the middle—

Robin presses a hand over his mouth, but the skin of his palm would be incomparable to Oliver’s lips.

Oliver’s smile fills Robin’s mind. The timbre of his voice as he sings. In private. To Robin. Things that Robin has both been trying _not_ to think about, but also thinking very much about, over the last week.

He’s going to have brunch with Oliver in a few hours. He’s going to have dinner, in private, with Oliver after, like they’ve been doing for the past few weeks.

His heart trembles in his chest. Oliver’s going to see it on his face, isn’t he? He’s going to see that Robin’s fallen for him. He’s going to notice how Robin looks at his lips, because those _pouty kissable lips_.

Robin presses a fist over his heart, and hopes.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀
> 
> ALSO my sibling told me (reminded me) about the existence of songs entirely about food, like this one about [peaches](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvAnQqVJ3XQ) or this one about [sugar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5pjuHcP5hsM) 😂 so please imagine the coffee song as something dramatic and over the top but taken very seriously but also not seriously


	13. Chapter 13

## 32\. Habanero Hot Sauce (thankfully, not for Oliver)

Robin takes his hands out of his coat pockets when he spies Oliver standing outside the chosen Mexican place for brunch. Oliver has his sunglasses on, looking rakish in his black jacket.

 _Oliver Oliver Oliver!_ Robin wants to reach out to him, touch his arm.

Oliver turns to him, and Robin’s lips curl up.

Robin’s burst of happiness tempers though as he spies the three people who are Oliver’s friends, even though he knew they’ll be here.

“Hello, good morning,” Robin greets them.

“Hey,” Oliver says, smiling a little. But he doesn’t take off his sunglasses. “Everyone, this is Robin. Robin, this is Nina, Anderson, and Kyle.”

Robin nods. Oliver had already told him their names during their dinner together last week, and it’s easy enough to reconnect names to faces.

They file inside, and the waiter leads them to a table by the window. Robin ends up seated next to Oliver—Oliver, who still hasn’t taken his sunnies off.

Robin inwardly frowns, stomach sinking in disappointment that he can’t see Oliver’s eyes. He hopes Oliver is okay. Or perhaps Oliver keeps his sunnies on when with his friends? But Oliver’s friends don’t say anything, so Robin stays silent.

“So, Robin. Have you ever eaten here before?” Kyle says, holding up the menu.

“No, do you have recommendations?” Robin asks politely. Kyle seems fully committed to forgetting their past incident, and Robin’s not going to rock the boat. 

Kyle smirks, his voice turning sly. “Everything is good, but I recommend the torta ahogado. Roast pork sandwich, a _lot_ of hot sauce, if you can stand it.”

“The tacos are really good,” Oliver interjects.

“Because you’re _weak_ ,” Kyle says dismissively.

Robin’s lips tighten a fraction. He understands teasing, yes, but Kyle’s tone rubs him the wrong way. “I don’t mind a bit of heat,” Robin says.

Kyle’s smirk widens. “ _Great_ ,” he says, and flags down the waiter to order.

“—And can you bring out a bottle of Habanero hot sauce?” Nina adds, after everyone has ordered.

“Yes, of course,” their waiter tells them, and collects the menus.

“So, what do you do?” Kyle asks.

“...I work at a dessert shop,” Robin says evenly.

Nina snorts. “Seriously, Kyle.”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Fine, I walked into that.”

“I went to baking school,” Robin says.

Nina tilts her head. “How was it? Was it necessary for you to open a dessert shop? Why did you open your own place instead of joining a larger bakery? Surely the hours would be better.”

Robin answers evenly, and continues to field Nina’s questions. Kyle’s chatting to Anderson. And as for Oliver…

Oliver’s head is tilted down, and Robin can see only a glimpse of Oliver’s eyes from the side.

Robin’s heart pinches. He wants to ask him what’s wrong, but it doesn’t feel right—it’s too _public_. Instead, he subtly nudges his leg against Oliver’s. Oliver startles, but he sits up more.

“But you know what _I_ do,” Robin says to Nina. “I heard from Oliver that you also do music?”

Even though Robin’s question is directed to Nina, Kyle is the one who talks next.

“Yep, we’re _all_ musicians here—well, except you. Did Oliver tell you how he used to be part of a band with us?”

“Robin can play the piano,” Oliver says.

Kyle’s eyes narrow. “You do?”

“Back in secondary,” Robin allows. “Asian parents and all.”

Kyle scoffs. “ _Asian_ parents, huh.” He cuts a look at Oliver. Oliver’s expression is flat, and the set of his mouth is just towards the side of _don’t you dare make another comment about that_. 

Robin’s heart softens, and shifts his attention back to Kyle. “What kind of music did you play?” 

“Queer rock, punk covers,” Kyle says, emphasing the word _queer_. “It was pretty good, until Oliver ditched us for the Melbourne Music Production Company and went all _straight-laced_.”

 _Oh._ Robin glances at Oliver, glad that Oliver has a job that involves music. He nudges Oliver gently. “Sounds like a great place to work,” he says.

“It was more stable than those gigs,” Oliver says, shrugging. “And the band was too small for so many guitarists.”

Kyle makes a face. “Seriously though, we had so much fun. _Ugh_ , and now you act so old! Remember that gig when that guy came with...”

He continues on some story filled with hijinks, and Robin listens politely, concern for Oliver still firmly lodged in his chest. Kyle only stops when the waiter comes by with their dishes.

Robin has the torta ahogado: an open faced sandwich with roast pork, beans, marinated red onions, and covered in an almost soupy spiced tomato sauce. Meanwhile, Oliver has a selection of tacos.

“ _Now_ ,” Kyle announces, picking up the habanero hot sauce. “Are you ready for the first round of heat?”

“Come _on_ already,” Nina says, rolling her eyes.

“Sure,” Robin says.

Anderson nods.

Oliver shakes his head. “Yeah nah, I want to _taste_ my tacos.”

“Bor-ring,” Kyle says, and gives everyone else a healthy dollop of the sauce.

Robin cuts up a portion of the sandwich with a knife and fork and dips it into the original sauce. The bread is still lovely and crispy, with a soft interior that has soaked up some of the flavourful sauce. The hot sauce adds a bit of spice and heat that elevates the dish.

“ _More_ hot sauce?” Kyle says slyly.

“Sure,” Robin says evenly. 

It’s really odd how Kyle keeps adding more hot sauce to everyone’s dishes through the meal—even Oliver’s, once, though Oliver doesn’t touch it.

In another setting, Robin might have used the hot sauce on Oliver’s plate. He musters a smile when Kyle says something and tries to look more attentive towards Oliver’s friends, all the while yearning to get out of here and have Oliver to himself, to pick apart why Oliver is avoiding eye-contact...

  


## 33\. Flan Milk Tea

Oliver is annoyed at Kyle and trying not to be. What the hell is Kyle’s point, trying to bring up their old band days? Robin’s been so polite too, and Oliver really doesn’t want to make a scene in front of Robin.

It doesn’t help that he’s been massively regretting meeting his friends and making Robin come along. Wouldn’t a brunch with just him and Robin be so much better?

Thankfully, this brunch is finally finishing up, with the waiter clearing the dishes and the now half-empty hot sauce bottle.

Kyle’s eyes are narrowing at Robin. “How are you so good at eating chilli?” he asks. “Oliver sucks at it.”

Oliver grits his teeth, and barely manages not to startle when Robin’s thigh briefly presses against his under the table.

“It tastes good,” Robin says politely.

“What’s the _spiciest_ thing you’ve ever eaten?”

“Sichuan hot pot,” Robin says firmly. “There are some good places in the CBD area.”

“Right,” Kyle says. “I’ll look it up.”

A particularly loud group in the restaurant leaves, and familiar music in the background picks up.

“Oh, seriously, your coffee song again?” Kyle says with a roll of his eyes. “I still can’t believe you wrote that pop trash.”

Oliver sucks in a sharp breath and whips off his sunnies to glare at Kyle. “It’s _not_ trash.”

“Yes it is,” Kyle says mutinously. “Like your stupid Summertime Rain song.”

“No one is forcing you to listen to it.”

“ _Kyle_ ,” Nina says.  


“Chill, fine, whatever,” Kyle says shortly. “It’s just an opinion, sheesh.”  


It leaves Oliver wondering why the hell he’s still friends with Kyle. They might have gotten along in the past, but they definitely don’t get along now.

“It’s a lovely song,” Robin says. “I’m sorry, but I need to leave soon to open my shop.”

“Right, of course,” Nina says. She flags down the waiter for the bill.

  


Oliver feels like he can breathe again as he exits the restaurant.

“It was lovely to meet you all,” Robin says.

“And it was lovely to meet you, Robin,” Nina says, glancing at Oliver.

Oliver gives her a look. _Yeah, happy now?_ It doesn’t actually make him feel better when she raises her eyebrows and gives him a return look of _yes_.

“Coming?” Kyle asks.

“My place is near Robin’s shop, so I’m headed that way,” Oliver says.

Kyle smirks. “ _Right_.”

Oliver glares at him, glare intensifying when Kyle rolls his eyes. Oliver nudges Robin away from his friends, and thankfully Robin goes along with it.

The moment they are out of earshot, Oliver sighs heavily.

“I’m sorry about my friends,” he says. “I should have said no, but they’re nosy as hell.”

“They were alright,” Robin says.

“ _Robin_ ,” Oliver says, frowning. “I definitely don’t expect you to like Kyle. He’s just two years younger than the rest of us but acts like he’s 10 years younger. If I wanted you to meet my friends, I should have had you meet _Mia_ or something...”

Their eyes meet, and Oliver realises that he didn’t put his sunnies back on, and Robin’s gaze is _searching_ him, his gaze warm and concerned—

Robin’s lips quirk up. “I can’t believe you wrote the coffee song and didn’t tell me,” he says, nudging Oliver in the shoulder. “It’s a very sweet song.”

Oliver’s cheeks heat up, and he looks away. 

“But the singer isn’t you.”

“...Actually, most singers don’t write their own songs. I’m not good in the spotlight, but music composition and songwriting, I can do.”

Robin’s smile softens. “Yeah.” He huffs a light breath and shakes his head. “ _And_ the Summertime Rain song. I’m sorry I never thought to look up the songwriter behind the lyrics.”

“No, it’s fine,” Oliver immediately says. “It would be so weird.”

Robin raises one eyebrow. “To know that I’m in the presence of a celebrity?” he drawls. His smile turns mischievous. “And a _romantic_ one at that? I’m surprised all the boys aren’t swooning at your feet.”

“ _Robin_ ,” Oliver grumbles, ears burning. “And why aren’t _you_ swooning then?”

Robin’s lips press together, his cheeks inexplicably reddening. “Do you want me to?”

Oliver stares at him. _Is he flirting with me? Really??? Is he is he is he?_ He needs to put his sunglasses on, quickly, except he wants to be able to look and see Robin in return. His stomach swoops...in disappointment as they reach the shop. Robin turns away from him, unlocking the door. He holds it open for Oliver.

“Do you want something sweet?”

“You _have_ to let me pay,” Oliver says immediately, pulling out his rewards card. “Look! I have two more stamps left before the 20th one!”

Robin huffs a laugh. “Fine, you win this time.” He goes behind the counter and starts up the register. “What would you like, Mr. Campbell?”

“Something good.”

“Hm. What do you think of egg pudding?”

“From you, perfect,” Oliver says, winking.

Robin’s lips quirk up. “Alright.”

He hands everything back to Oliver, and on the receipt, it says: _Flan Milk Tea, No Ice, 20% Sweet_.

Oliver leans against the counter, watching Robin making the drink. Will he ever get bored of this? _Can_ he ever get bored of watching Robin’s ease and familiarity making desserts and drinks?

Robin glances at him, and Oliver automatically smiles.

“Here you go,” Robin says.

“Thank you, sir,” Oliver says with faux seriousness.

“You’re welcome, sir,” Robin returns, equally sombre. Both their lips quirk up at the same time.

Oliver’s eyes dip lower at the first sip of sweet, creamy milk tea. It’s such a familiar taste now, and it makes Oliver feel warm and relaxed. Instead of boba, though, pieces of pale yellow _pudding_ float inside the drink, and they’re a burst of firm softness and sweetness and caramel flavour. It’s exceedingly _smooth_ , and Oliver doesn’t have to stop and chew like with the boba.

He accidentally looks up to Robin’s warm gaze, and Oliver’s late night activities flash over his brain.

Oliver clears his throat, half crossing his legs together as he leans against the counter. “It’s really silky and rich,” he says.

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “Good.”

Oliver looks away and clears his throat. “So, are you still up for dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” Robin says. He tilts his head slightly, that concerned look on his face again. “Are you feeling okay, Oliver?”

“Yeah, of course,” Oliver immediately says. “I was just—had a bit of trouble sleeping last night, that’s all.”

“Oh.” If anything, Robin’s gaze intensifies.

Oliver tries not to squirm, instead occupying himself by sipping his drink. Except Robin’s gaze has flickered down to his mouth again.

Oliver licks his lips...and there’s Robin’s gaze again.

Oliver's heart races. Maybe. Maybe Robin _is_ interested.

Maybe if he leans forward, and Robin leans forward, and their lips could touch...

Oliver moves his cup. He opens his mouth to say—

The door behind them opens as a customer comes in. Oliver nearly jumps out of his skin—his heart is thudding so fast.

"Oh hey, are you open yet?" the customer asks.

"I—" Robin starts.

“Right, well, I’ll see you later,” Oliver says quickly. “Have a nice day.”

As thus, while Robin is distracted, Oliver flees home, drink pressed protectively against his chest.

Tonight, Oliver is going to have Robin _in his home_. Tonight, they’ll have dinner while Robin _watches_ him. Tonight, they’ll sit on the _same sofa_.

How is Oliver going to _survive?_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was talking with [toutcequonveut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toutcequonveut) and they brought up the question of Oliver & Robin's ship name. I present to you: JAM ROLY POLY, since Robin + Olly -> Rolly, right?


	14. Chapter 14

## 34\. Mini Strawberry Fraisier

One candle, Oliver thinks. He lights one candle that someone gifted to him ages ago, and Oliver makes sure _not_ to put it in the middle of the dining table. And there are no flowers, so the ~~romantic~~ ambience is subtle, just in case.

All the components for dinner have been prepped—cooking it won’t take longer than 15 minutes. His bed is made, and the living room has been neatened and _oh what if Oliver has imagined Robin’s interest and Robin just wanted a friend who’s gay without it turning weird and—_

Oliver’s heart leaps at the knock on the door, and he dashes over to open it.

“Hey,” he says, feeling breathless.

Robin’s smile is wide, and Oliver freezes, gaze locked.

“Good evening,” Robin says. “...Can I come in?”

“Ohmygod, yeah, of course.” Oliver quickly backs away from the door to allow Robin in.

Robin takes off his shoes, as always. This time, he’s wearing the cake socks. “They’re very comfy,” he says, meeting Oliver’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Oliver mumbles. He turns around and heads for the kitchen. “Dinner?” he says over his shoulder.

“Yes please,” Robin replies. He puts a container in the fridge. “Can I help?”

“ _I’m_ cooking,” Oliver protests, “You just stand there and watch.” He starts searing two portions of salmon on one pan, skin side down, and cooking the buttery veg on another.

...and now he’s aware of how Robin is _looking_ at him again. Oliver studiously sets an alarm on his phone—he is _not_ going to let this burn—before saying, “You know, I _still_ can’t believe you matched Kyle on the hot sauce.”

Robin’s lips quirk up. “I like spicy food. I grew up with it.”

“So you’re saying _training_?”

Robin’s hand brushes Oliver’s arm. “It’s not something you need to train for if you don’t want to,” he says, voice indulgent. “I have something for you.” He brings the other hand from behind his back and gives Oliver a small bag.

Giddiness flutters Oliver’s heart as he accepts it. It’s showergel— _gingerbread scented_ showergel.

Oliver imagines showering. Naked. Using this showergel that _Robin_ got him. 

Oliver’s head snaps up. “Robin. You…”

Robin’s cheeks are _reddening_ , and his gaze is not meeting Oliver’s.

“I was thinking,” Robin mumbles. “I didn’t mean it to be weird. It’s sweet but also spicy—not the chilli kind—and it’s not like people can tell you’ve used it unless they get _really_ close. Well, I suppose I would know—” Robin presses his lips together.

Anticipation fizzes in Oliver’s chest. His heart thumps madly. He hopes his hands aren’t sweating. “Because you’ll be really close,” he says, taking the half step towards Robin.

Robin doesn’t move back. Instead, his hand settles hesitantly on Oliver’s arm. “Yes, well. Maybe I’m wrong after all?”

Oliver’s heart skips a beat, meeting Robin’s gaze.

“Wrong about what?” Oliver tilts his head. Licks his lips. A thrill goes through him when Robin’s gaze flickers down. Oliver parts his lips. Robin seems to mirror the action unconsciously.

“That...you like me.”

...That wasn’t the order of pronouns Oliver was expecting. “ _You_ don’t like _me_?” he blurts out, heart sinking. _What was he **thinking?**_ Oliver moves back, but Robin’s grip on his arm tightens.

 **“** Of course I do!”

“...You do?” It takes a moment, but then Oliver starts to grin foolishly. “You do?”

“I do,” Robin repeats, a smile spreading on his own face.

Oliver’s grin widens. “ _You do_ ,” he repeats. His chest swells with joy.

Robin’s grin widens. “I do,” he says again, his tone turning indulgent.

Oliver’s stomach flips. He clears his throat. “Stop smiling, or we won’t be able to kiss,” he says, absolutely, totally, seriously.

“Is that so?” Robin’s smile immediately drops...and returns a moment later.

“ _Seriously_!”

Oliver drops the showergel on the counter in favour of grabbing Robin around the waist. Robin returns the action. Their bodies press close together. Robin’s body is firm and warm against Oliver’s, and he feels like he desperately needs it or else he’ll float away.

Oliver is the one who leans in first for the kiss. But he can’t stop grinning, instead landing a smile on the corner of Robin’s mouth. Robin chuckles, his body shaking lightly in Oliver’s arms.

“Stop _smiling_ ,” Oliver grumbles.

Robin’s hand cups Oliver’s cheek, and he rubs their noses together instead.

“...Did we skip from the goofy teenager stage to the domestic old gays?” Oliver jokes.

“You haven’t said you liked me,” Robin murmurs.

Oliver’s cheeks heat up. “Fishing for compliments, Robin? Of course I do.”

Robin’s smile widens. His eyes crinkle, gaze soft.

Oliver can’t handle it, and buries his face in the crook of Robin’s neck instead. He jumps when his phone alarm goes off.

Oliver quickly goes to flip the salmon, counting down the few seconds the second side needs.

“Oliver?”

Oliver turns. Robin’s hands caress either side of his face, and their lips touch for the briefest instant. Is there the lightest taste of something sweet on Robin’s lips?

Robin immediately pulls away, and Oliver tries to follow his lips.

“Later,” Robin says sternly, “The salmon is done.”

Oliver stares at him. “You’re _evil_ ,” he says.

“I must get it from my sister,” Robin smirks.

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Get the plates, will you?”

  


Oliver is quite proud of dinner: the salmon skin is perfectly crispy, and the salmon and buttered vegetables are rich. Somehow, Robin ends up talking about the history of flour.

Oliver stretches his legs under the table and nudges his feet against Robin’s. Robin’s lips quirk up.

“I’m curious about _your_ job,” Robin says, completely straight faced as his feet caress Oliver’s. Oliver’s toes curl. “What is it like to work in the music industry?”

 _Ah. Two can play at this game_ , Oliver thinks. He licks his fork (and _there_ goes Robin’s gaze), and starts, “It gets increasingly chaotic towards deadlines…”

Eventually, dinner turns into dessert. Oliver moves the dirty dishes to the sink. They both move to the sofa, and Robin unveils dessert: “These are strawberry fraisiers.”

Oliver gladly accepts one of them. They are small and perfectly rectangular, aside from the strawberry on top. They look like a mix between cheesecake and jelly slice: there is a sponge cake base, a wall of strawberries, decadent creme patisserie and a thin layer of red jelly on top. 

“ _Mmmmm_ ,” Oliver moans as he slips a portion onto his mouth. “It’s so _soft_ ,” he says, licking his fork completely before going in for some more. With all the sweetness and richness in desserts, strawberries are a true winner. Oliver moans again on the second bite, and looks up through his lashes.

A mischievous thrill goes through him at Robin’s hyper focused expression. 

“I know your plan now,” Oliver says, toying with the fork with his mouth. “You want to take over the world through the stomach. It’s all part of your evil plan, isn’t it?”

Robin’s eyes snap up. “I have no ulterior motives. It brings me joy to see you enjoy the things I make.”

“What about _other_ creamy things you make,” Oliver says, smirking. “Will I ever get to have a taste?”

Robin’s cheeks dust pink. “We’ll have to see if you can earn it, hm?”

Oliver regretfully puts his half-eaten dessert down but it’s for a good cause as he swaps it for his guitar and starts the very familiar riff for the coffee song, gazing back at Robin all the while.

“ _When I was little, we only drank coffee one way… But then I met **you**._”

Robin’s lips part. “Wait…”

“I wrote the song thinking about you.”.

Robin’s eyes darken. He shifts forward on the sofa. Oliver puts the guitar down as Robin leans over him.

“Did you really?”

“ _But then I met you_ ,” Oliver repeats. He places a hand against Robin’s face. This time, Oliver shifts first, pressing a kiss on Robin’s lips.

“Mnn,” Robin hums, and tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

Oliver’s chest swoops and soars. His lips buzz with sensation against Robin’s, and his arm and chest are alight where Robin rests his hands.

Oliver parts his lips, and Robin’s tongue slips in. “Ohh,” Oliver moans. He needs to breathe, but he doesn’t want to stop. They break apart, and Oliver opens eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed.

“Oliver,” Robin murmurs.

Oliver’s chest swells. He nudges Robin against the sofa and straddles him.

Robin smirks up at him. “More?”

Oliver shuts him up by kissing him. Robin is exhilaratingly _solid_ and _warm_ against him. Robin’s hands rest against his hips and stay there though, the utter _gentleman_.

Oliver has to part, eventually, breathing heavy. He rests his forehead against Robin’s.

Robin’s lips are red and slick, and his eyes are a dark, dark brown.

“It’s no fair how pretty your smile is,” Oliver mumbles.

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “You’re the first one to say that.” Robin raises a hand, and Oliver shivers as Robin presses his fingers against Oliver’s lips. “It’s not fair how pretty your mouth is.”

“ _Only_ my mouth?”

“And your nose,” Robin concedes, bopping him on the nose.

Oliver rolls his eyes.

“And your eyes, and your ears,” Robin adds. His hand curls around Oliver’s face, tracing the whorl of his ear.

Oliver smiles foolishly. “Yeah? I’m perfect, aren’t I?”

Robin’s lips quirk up. “No objection from me. We should finish dessert.”

“But you _are_ dessert,” Oliver protests and drops his body against Robin to stop him from moving.

“If I fed you dessert?”

Oliver looks up and gives Robin a coy look. “Will you now, Mister Quan?”

“For you, yes.”

Oliver chuckles. “Okay, okay.” He shifts on Robin’s lap, hands Robin his plate, and can’t stop smiling as Robin attempts to feed him.

“Stop _smiling_ ,” Robin says, exasperated.

At that, Oliver starts laughing, which is objectively even worse for eating, but then Robin starts chuckling too, and it’s perfectly, perfectly, fine.

* * *

Robin spontaneously hugs Oliver. Oliver’s not entirely sitting on his lap anymore, but it’s close.

“Hm?” Oliver says, and pauses the Bake Off episode on screen. His eyes are blinking more slowly—it’s getting late, even for them, and Robin wishes he was strong enough to lift Oliver to bed.

“We should talk. About us.”

Oliver pulls a face, but sighs. “I know. We’re _adults_.” He looks at Robin. “We’re dating, right?”

Robin smiles faintly. “We should go on a date, then.”

“Well, it’ll be either brunch or midnight dinner,” Oliver says. “Which we’ve been doing already.”

Robin blinks. _Oh_. “You’re saying that...we’ve been dating _already_.”

Oliver squirms. “No, that can’t be right.”

Robin buries his face in Oliver’s hair. He’s such an _idiot_. If his sister could see him now, she’ll definitely say they’ve been dating.

“Robin? Are you falling asleep there?”

“I’m not out to my parents.”

Oliver draws away, brows pinching together. “You don’t have to come out to them. You don’t _owe_ them.”

“It’s—well, they _know_ that I’m gay, but I’ve never told them, and they don’t want to admit that it’s true. I’m the only male child, I’m supposed to marry a woman and have children.”

“The heterosexual agenda.” Oliver makes a face, curling one arm around Robin. “But I mean it, I’m never going to push you to come out.”

“What happened when you came out to your parents?—If you want to tell me. You told me that your dad doesn’t like you…”

Oliver scoffs. “I never even told my dad. He learnt from my older brother. My mum, well...she wasn’t great with it at the beginning, and it didn’t help that I was doing music at university, instead of picking up a trade like my older brother. Music doesn’t look like a real career, you know—even though she obviously listens to music.”

Robin wraps his arms around Oliver.

“I mean, she’s better now, about it. She wants to keep the family together, and she knows that she can’t change my gayness. My younger brother isn’t so bad. My older one...well, I think he’s partly pissed that I had enough money to move out before he did. Doing a _gay_ job.”

“My sister is good with it,” Robin says. “Well, she works on teaching football to girls, so she’s on top of things like diversity. She said you had a crush on me.”

“ _Seriously?_ ”

Robin’s cheeks heat up. “Yes, I know. She did, even though she’s never met you.”

“Kyle thinks we’re fuck buddies,” Oliver says.

Robin’s eyes widen. “No, seriously?” His groin gives a twitch of interest. Heat floods his cheeks.

Oliver looks at him. “I mean...unless you’re ace, or you don’t want to…”

“I’m not ace. It’s just...it’s been a while since I had a relationship. A boyfriend.”

Oliver scrunches his nose. “Do you think we’re a bit too old to be boyfriends?”

“Partners?”

“—In crime, at your sister’s evil organisation.”

Robin huffs a laugh. “Date buddies? Friends with benefits?”

Oliver raises his eyebrows. “I haven’t seen much of these benefits yet, Mister Quan.”

“I trade in illicit cakes,” Robin drawls. “Are they not good enough for your palate?”

Oliver holds Robin’s face and kisses him deeply instead. Robin’s heart fills with soft and warmth. Parental problems aside, he and Oliver will pull through.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!!! 😂


	15. Chapter 15

## 35\. Brown Sugar Bubble Tea

Lark takes one look at Robin’s face the next morning and smirks.

Robin narrows his eyes back. “Yeah?”

“Finally,” she says, patting him on the top of his head. “You should use some lip balm.”

“ _Lark!_ ” he complains.

Lark’s smirk turns into a grin. “That good, huh? I bet he liked your shower gel.”

Robin rolls his eyes, because that’s better than breaking into a big smile and getting even more teased for it. “Oliver is a great guy,” he says primly. “Now, I have to get ready to go, so if you’re done with the shower…”

“Go right ahead,” Lark says. “Don’t spend too long in there just because it’s winter.”

“Lark. You’re my _sister_.”

“The demonisation of sex is harmful for everyone,” Lark says. “It’s perfectly natural to have sex, and perfectly natural _not_ to have sex, and consent is vital—”

“I know, Lark.”

Lark smiles benevolently. “What did you say his name was?”

“Oliver Campbell.”

“Hmm.” She pats him on the shoulder as she walks past. ”Have a good day.”

  


The commute time to the city is _perfect_ for Robin to think about Oliver. They didn’t kiss _all_ night long, but they did kiss a lot, and Robin’s a bit mortified that his sister told him to use _lip balm_ of all things.

**Robin Quan: Good morning. Have a nice day at work!**

**Oliver Campbell: 😘**

Robin’s heart swells. He hums along to the coffee song when it starts playing around the shop, and morning prep work goes by in a breeze. He opens the shop, and fields a couple of initial tea and coffee orders.

“Hey, Robin…” says a very familiar voice. 

Robin looks up and grins. “Hey, Oliver.”

Oliver slowly takes off his sunnies and steps up to the counter. “So, um.”

Robin glances around, but it’s just them right now. He leans forward over the counter. “Do you want to...?”

Oliver gives a breathy, “Yes,” and they lean over the counter and kiss chastely.

Robin has to press his lips tightly together afterwards. _I can’t believe I just did that!_ —and Oliver seems to have an equally stunned look.

“Off to work?”

“Well, I was thinking of getting something to drink,” Oliver says, pulling out his rewards card and credit card. “Look, there’s just one more left before the free drink.”

“But we’re _dating_ now, I can’t charge you,” Robin says.

“It’s nothing, though,” Oliver says.

“Exactly, it’s nothing, there’s no need to pay me,” Robin tries.

“But Robin…”

The door opens and both of them jump.

“Oh, Jenny, hi,” Robin greets his co-worker.

“Morning, Robin,” she says, giving Oliver a curious look as she heads behind the counter.

“Jenny!” Oliver says. “Can you serve me? I want a—um—brown sugar bubble tea.”

“...Sure,” Jenny says.

Robin bites back a sigh. “Fine, you win this time, Oliver.” He steps aside once Jenny’s put her apron on and even lets Jenny make the drink for Oliver.

Robin hovers, trying not to be awkward, and trying not to smile ridiculously at Oliver, or make faces back at Oliver. He’s not sure he’s succeeded.

“...And here’s your bubble tea,” Jenny says.

“Thank you,” Oliver says. He nods, glancing at Robin. “See you round?”

“Yeah,” Robin says.

They settle on nods ( _instead of kisses-good-bye_ ), and Oliver leaves, putting his sunnies back on.

Jenny looks between the departed Oliver and back to Robin. She seems to be hiding a smile. “We’re going to be out of boba soon,” she finally says.

Robin blinks, centering himself back on the shop. “Oh, yes, I’ve already put an order through…” 

  


## 36\. Coffees

Oliver comes by every noon to _Matcha & Milk _on his way to work, and has Jenny, or the new guy, Damien, make him a different (sweet) coffee every day, because otherwise Robin would refuse to let him pay, and Oliver refuses to let that happen. And Oliver wants a coffee anyway—why can’t he get it at _Matcha & Milk_?

“You don’t want that free 20th drink?” Jenny asks, when Oliver requests another rewards card.

“I’m waiting for something special,” Oliver says, glancing at Robin.

Jenny nods. “That’s smart. Robin’s been developing some new drinks.”

Oliver grins. “Good, I look forward to them.” His grin widens when Robin rolls his eyes.

*

**Robin Quan: My sister calls you my paramour lol**

**Oliver Campbell: 👀 She’s so romantic**

**Robin Quan: All the better to win you over to the dark side**

**Oliver Campbell: 😂 😘**

**Robin Quan: YOU’RE the romantic one. Who knew the soft heart under those sunnies…**

**Oliver Campbell: 😘😘😘**

**Robin Quan: ❤️**

Oliver’s heart swells. _Paramour_ is a nice word, he thinks as he strums his guitar. He looks up at the knock on his door.

Groaning, he stands up and opens the door—the room is mostly soundproof, so calling out would be fairly useless.

It’s Mia. “Hey Ollie,” she says. She looks pointedly at the guitar on his chair. “Aren’t you meant to be working on the sound fixes?”

“I was _composing_ in my break,” Oliver says. “What’s up?”

Mia’s brows go up. “A new song? If it’s anything like the coffee song…”

Oliver grins and shakes his head. “It’s not like the coffee song, but I think we could definitely produce it.”

Mia nods. “I’m free early next week if you want me to hear it.”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

“Anyway, Penny’s called a meeting.”

“Alright.” Oliver locks his computer and follows Mia out.

“Oh, do you know if that dessert shop does event cake commissions?” Mia asks.

Oliver blinks. “Yeah, you can put in an order. I think you can do it online?”

Mia nods. “Cool. I like that place, it’s not as sweet as the other cake shops around here.”

Oliver gives her a closed mouth smile, a tendril of pride in his chest. 

*

Oliver also comes by every evening on the way back from work. “ _No_ ,” Oliver resists when Robin offers him something sweet. “I want to save it for our date on Friday night. I just wanted to see you.” And he’ll lean in over the counter and give Robin a kiss—if there is no one else around—and revel in how it makes Robin redden.

Because now that they’re dating, Oliver feels a lot more steady. He knows where he stands with Robin. He _knows_ about dating and romance and other things.

“Then should I expect a banquet on Friday night?”

“Well, you _could_ call me a feast,” Oliver teases. “I was thinking of pouring cream over my chest…”

And Oliver inwardly smirks at how Robin’s eyes widen.

“And oh, I’ve been using your gingerbread shower gel. Thanks!” He blows Robin a kiss and leaves for the evening, and already thinking of things to say the next evening.

  


## 37\. Strawberry Daifuku (part 1)

The moment Robin enters Oliver’s flat, he’s nudged against the wall and thoroughly kissed. It takes him way too long to recover.

“Hey,” Oliver says, finally pulling away.

Robin stares at him for a moment, then quickly wraps his arms around him and buries his nose in Oliver’s neck. “Oh, you _do_ smell like gingerbread.”

Oliver laughs breathlessly. “I should thank the person who gave it to me.”

“Hmmm. You should,” Robin murmurs, but he can’t stop scenting Oliver. He smells warm and attractive and slightly sweet. Robin nuzzles Oliver’s neck.

Oliver makes a choked sound, his groin pressing up against Robin’s. “Bed?”

A shiver of anticipation runs down Robin’s body, a starburst of feeling when Oliver slips cool fingers between his shirt and trousers. Robin’s arms tighten. “Oliver.“

“Yeah?” Oliver says, perking up.

“...I need to take my shoes off first.”

Oliver huffs. “Fine, come on.”

Robin regretfully separates from Oliver long enough to take his shoes off, and leaves his bag by its usual spot in the living room.

“So...this is my bedroom,” Oliver says, opening one of the doors that usually remains closed.

Robin doesn’t have much time to look around though because Oliver’s hands are on his waist, his lips on Robin’s. They end up tipping onto Oliver’s bed, Robin crowded against the pillows.

Robin looks up, fingertips light on Oliver’s lips. Oliver’s lips curl up. He nips Robin’s fingers, before descending on Robin’s mouth again, sliding his tongue inside. While Robin’s lips alight in sensation, the rest of his body wants to melt, wants to keep Oliver as close as possible.

Robin spreads his legs, just a little. Oliver’s body presses down on him. The kiss is sensuous, heat blooming at every point where they touch. Robin tugs at Oliver’s shirt, slipping his fingers against warm, firm skin.

“Yess.” Oliver slips his own hand under Robin’s shirt. Giddy anticipation travels up Robin’s stomach, turning into a moan as clever fingers tease his nipple, as Oliver’s hardness presses against Robin’s through their trousers.

“Fuck,” Oliver says, and kisses Robin again, swallowing up his moans.

It’s hard to think about anything else but Oliver’s weight, and about Oliver. Robin’s stomach swoops in disappointment when Oliver draws away.

Oliver licks his lips. “Not that I don’t love this but...can we?” He presses a hand over Robin’s bulge.

“Oh. _Oh_. Yeah.” Robin undoes his belt and trouser buttons, and helps Oliver with his zipper. Robin bites his bottom lip in anticipation as he sees Oliver’s cock, flushed and hard.

“Let me,” Oliver says. He leans over to his bedside, coating fingers with lube. Then, he grasps both cocks.

Robin swallows, hard. Oliver’s fingers are slightly calloused from his musical playing, grip firm and unfamiliar on Robin’s dick. And not only that, _his_ dick is _touching_ Oliver’s.

Oliver starts to tug, squeezing the two together, pressing heat against heat. Lube coats their cocks, making obscene slicking sounds as Oliver works. Robin flushes as his pearly white precome oozes out of his dick.

Oliver pants. “Is that good? Like that?” he says, tugging and twisting. 

Robin sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, oh yeah.”

At each pull, Robin feels himself getting hard, getting closer. He almost cannot believe that _this_ is happening.

Oliver’s head drops onto Robin’s shoulder. Robin threads his hand through the curls, tugging lightly.

“God, you feel so good,” Oliver mutters. His hand moves a little faster, a little rougher.

Robin’s toes curl. “Faster.”

“Yeah—yeah.”

Robin’s eyes shut. It always amazes him how _different_ it feels when someone else is wanking him, and it’s _Oliver_ too, Oliver with his talented hands…

“Oliver, Oliver,” Robin mumbles.

If anything, Oliver goes faster. “Come on,” he urges, voice husky and deep with arousal.

Robin’s body tenses, then releases in a brilliant orgasm. Oliver’s motions slow, his moan muffled into Robin’s neck as he comes too, spurting all over Robin’s chest and shirt. He slumps down fully a few moments later.

Robin’s chest heaves as he remembers to breath again. Affection fills him til it wants to burst. He turns his head and presses a kiss into Oliver’s hair.

“Hmmnnoo, kiss my face,” Oliver protests.

Robin huffs. He manoeuvres Oliver off of him, switching their positions and kisses Oliver’s cheek.

Oliver pouts. Grinning, Robin gives his boyfriend a kiss on the lips.

“My cock is dangling out,” Robin says, glancing down their bodies.

Oliver laughs. “I hope I didn’t ruin your shirt.”

“Hmmm.” Robin gives into the urge to kiss Oliver again.

However, it’s only so long that he can ignore the come on their skin and clothes. “We have to clean up before dinner.”

Oliver pouts. “No shower together?”

“I don’t have any spare clothes with me…” Robin narrows his eyes. “Unless you have a _thing_ for men in your clothes.”

Oliver grins. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

Robin pulls a face. He’s about to get up when he spies something. “Wait, isn’t that the toy I gave you?” he says. The little cake plush is half hidden under the duvet.

Oliver averts his eyes. “Soooo what if it is?”

“You sleep with it at night?” Robin teases.

“ _Only_ sleep,” Oliver says, wriggling his eyebrows. He reaches down, fondling Robin’s spent cock.

Robin huffs a laugh. “Sneaky, Oliver, sneaky.”

“One more kiss?”

Robin can’t help but grant Oliver’s wish.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Strawberry Daifuku next chapter~
> 
> ~~Also, should this tip it into explicit rating rather than just mature?~~


	16. Chapter 16

## 37\. Strawberry Daifuku (part 2)

Oliver’s limbs feel all loose and relaxed and he wouldn’t mind snuggling and maybe even having a nap—though a nap this time at night wouldn’t really be a _nap_...Or maybe he could continue kissing Robin? Both sound very good.

But at Robin’s protest, they both get up to wash up and wipe down in the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. Oliver, grinning, pulls out an impressive roast chicken from the oven.

“So it _is_ a feast,” Robin says, leaning against the counter. “I’ll set the table?”

“Yeah.” Oliver starts pulling together all the other sides: roasted vegetables, salad, sauces. He carves up the roast chicken, and carries it to the table.

There’s a lit candle.

Oliver looks at Robin.

“Don’t you think it’s suitable?” Robin says innocently.

“But you’ve _already_ romanced me. Don’t tell me there’s a marriage proposal coming up…”

A grin grows on Robin’s face. “Really? Is that a hint?”

Oliver pulls a face. “If I could throw a pillow at you right now, I would.”

He sets down the platter of carved chicken. Robin helps him carry the rest of the food to the table, and Oliver remembers the bottle of hot sauce for Robin. He serves Robin, smiling innocently at Robin’s exasperated look.

“You know,” Oliver says, lips quirking up. “I’m starting to understand why grandmothers love to feed people.”

Robin shakes his head, but his look is fond.

“It looks like your shop is going well,” Oliver comments, once they start eating.

“Oh, there’s a rise during this time—school and uni holidays.”

“Not just that. I saw you added teh tarik onto the menu properly.”

“You noticed?”

“Of course I did. I have the link to your video saved.”

Robin’s cheeks redden. “Seriously?”

“We still haven’t taken a picture yet…”

Robin laughs. “Fine, come here.”

Oliver gladly gets to his feet and tugs Robin up to. He wraps an arm around Robin’s waist and snaps half a dozen selfies of the two of them.

Once they sit down again, Robin says, “That was what you wanted the whole time, wasn’t it?”

Oliver gives a noncommittal shrug, though it’s true there’s nothing else pressing on his mind. After all: sex, tick, photos of Robin, tick, eating with Robin and spending time with Robin, SO MANY TICKS.

“You know, there was a Great Australian Bake Off a few years back,” Robin says.

“Wait, what? Was it as gay as the Britsh one?”

Robin pulls a face. “I don’t think so? Oh, I bet you’ve never seen Iron chef.”

“Weren’t there also kids cooking shows?”

The conversation meanders into childhood nostalgia. To think that he and Robin lived in different suburbs in Melbourne, and yet watched the same things. They even had the same school yard games, albeit under different names.

  


After dinner finishes, they head over to the couch, and Robin reveals a small box. Inside are four small sized pale white balls, soft and springy when Oliver pokes at it.

“These are strawberry daifuku,” Robin informs him. He slices one open, revealing a bright pink-red strawberry, surrounded with a dull-red paste. “I used smaller strawberries. Come here.”

Oliver leans closer, and has to hold back a giddy smile when Robin holds up half of the daifuku. It touches Oliver’s lips, and his mouth opens. He bites down, licking the tip of Robin’s fingers.

Sweetness and tartness of the strawberry bursts in Oliver’s mouth, tempered by the sweet red bean paste, and the balancing flavour of the outside mochi. The mochi has a bit of squishy chew, contrasting with the bite of the strawberry.

“Good?”

Oliver leans forward silently to take the rest of the piece off Robin’s fingers, making sure to lick those fingers clean.

Robin’s eyes darken. “Hm.”

“Yep, very tasty,” Oliver says, pressing his thigh against Robin’s.

“Be serious,” Robin says, bopping Oliver’s nose.

“I’m always serious with desserts,” Oliver says. “It can’t help it if there’s a snack in front of me.”

Robin blinks. “Did you just—” 

“A snack,” Oliver says, innocently picking up the second daifuku. “Here.” This time, _he_ feeds Robin, a bite for him, a bite for Oliver, and finishing off with a kiss. Oliver boldly slips his tongue inside Robin’s mouth, pressing himself as close to Robin as possible. When Oliver moves back, Robin’s eyes are blown wide, lips bitten red.

Oliver steals a hand under Robin’s shirt, nudging Robin to the side.

After a beat, Robin lies back on the sofa, eyes half-lidded. “We really should finish eating.”

“But what if I want to eat you?” Oliver fishes out a small travel size bottle of lube from his pocket.

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “Oh, Oliver,” he says, the fond exasperation in his voice warming Oliver up. “Do you think...if I could wank us off this time?”

 _Fuck yes!_ Oliver immediately nods.

After short work of opening up trousers and pushing down pants, Oliver has his head buried in Robin’s neck. Robin’s fingers are longer than his, _(pianist fingers_ , he thinks desperately), and the little twists and tugs are slightly different, and the not quite knowing what will happen next heightens every spark of pleasure.

“Faster,” Oliver urges. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“You feel the best,” Robin says.

Oliver trembles, emotion warring with arousal. “Robin…”

Robin jerks them off faster, silky skin of their cocks sliding against each other. Oliver’s toes curl. He moans as he comes, muffled against Robin’s neck. “K-keep going. _Yes_.”

Oliver kisses Robin’s neck. Robin comes soon after, his motions becoming erratic.

Both of them are breathing heavily in the aftermath. Oliver makes good use of his not-coated-in-lube fingers to hug Robin tightly.

“We’ve made a mess _again_ ,” Robin says, attempting to get up.

Oliver grumbles and hugs tighter. “I’m just going to lie here. You can feed me the rest of the daifuku.”

“If you’re sleepy, maybe I should leave now.”

Oliver immediately sits up. “ _Evil_ , Robin.”

Robin’s lips quirk up in a lazy smile. “Am I? Wait here.”

Robin soon returns with a wet cloth and cleans them both down. Oliver grabs Robin, pulling him down for a cuddle.

Oliver feels he’s _really_ lucky when Robin acquiesces, even takes the opportunity to feed him more of the mochi. There’s really nothing else better than having Robin right up against him.

  


## 38\. Rainbow Smoothie

“Why were you out so late last night?”

Robin stops at the kitchen doorway. His mum and dad are both seated in the living room, watching some Vietnamese-language news.

“I was with a friend,” Robin replies blandly in Vietnamese.

“Don’t leave, we’re still talking to you,” his dad says, turning down the sound on the TV.

Robin bites back a sigh. “Yes, dad? Mum?”

“Your birthday is soon,” his dad says. “I was talking with a good friend of mine, he has a daughter.”

“No, not _that_ again,” his mum says, scowling at his dad. “That _friend_ of yours, all the two of you do is drink!”

“Well, our son clearly needs help looking for good girls! Or else, you’ll be turning thirty and single!”

“I know how to find people myself,” Robin says coldly.

“We’re _not_ talking about men!” his father snaps. “Do you want people to look at you like you’re crazy? Do you want people to beat you up? You’re too old for this nonsense!”

“If you know already, then I don’t need to say.”

His mum sighs heavily. “What did I do wrong?”

“I could get beaten up for being Asian.”

“But you can’t change that,” his father says grimly. “You are not White, only white people are gay*,” he says, *using the derogatory Vietnamese term.

Robin narrows his eyes. “What about King Khai Dinh? What about King Vinh Thuy? What about Emperor Ai? There were gay people _before_ the white people came! Haven’t you read a book? Do you even know how to use the internet? I can’t believe I know more history than you!”

“Why you—” his dad starts.

“I need to go to work now,” Robin cuts him off. “So I say goodbye to you, dad, mum.” He walks out the door, meeting Lark just returning from her morning run.

“Robin?” she says.

“It’s fine,” he says, grimacing. “They just need to _read_.”

“Maybe if they see that you’re happy, they might ease off,” Lark suggests.

“I’m _not_ inviting Oliver to my birthday party with our _parents_ around,” Robin says.

“Hmm. Does Oliver know it’ll be your birthday?”

Robin freezes.

Lark raises an eyebrow.

Robin groans, knowing that Lark’s threatening to tell Oliver herself. “Fine. I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Lark says, patting Robin on the arm. “See you later!”

Robin farewells her and starts off to work.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Oliver. But rather, he doesn’t want that kind of pressure or anticipation. He’ll be happy just spending another midnight dinner with Oliver as usual.

*

It is currently the season for custard apples, so after Robin prepares all the standard fruit for the drinks, he starts on scoping out the custard apple flesh. It’s not _easy_ , with all the large black seeds, but he’s already planned some desserts that would go lovely with custard apples. He’s just washing his hands when his phone buzzes.

**Oliver Campbell: Hello, let me in? 🥺**

Robin doesn’t bother replying, quickly drying his hands on a towel and heading out of the kitchen. He unlocks the door, smiling at Oliver.

“Hey,” Oliver says, pulling off his sunglasses. He ruffles his curls, and Robin’s heart twinges in his chest.

“Come in,” he says, locking the door again behind Oliver—it’s not yet opening time. “How are you?”

Oliver steps close, hand on Robin’s hip. Robin’s breath catches, a tingling of warmth when Oliver pecks him on the lips.

“Perfect,” Oliver says, lips curling up.

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “Good. I was wondering if you wanted your special 20th drink now.”

Oliver grins. “Haven’t you been giving me special 20th drinks for a while now? Like the Cereal Milkshake, or the Matcha Parfait.”

“The parfait isn’t a drink.”

“But it’s served in a _glass_ ,” Oliver says, grinning.

“You smartypants,” Robin drawls. He nudges Oliver to the space behind the counter, and starts blends up yoghurt, milk and ice. While the blender runs, he pulls out a cylindrical glass, and brings out eight different squeezy-bottles.

Oliver peeks over Robin’s shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”

Robin turns his head and drops a kiss on Oliver’s cheek. “Be patient,” he says fondly.

A thin layer of the yoghurt smoothie goes first, then a layer of purple taro cream. Then, between successive layers of pale yoghurt, Robin layers blue vanilla-raspberry syrup, green matcha, yellow mango, orange persimmon, red strawberry and milk chocolate syrups. A swirl of whipped cream and little oreo-style heart shaped cookies on top finishes the drink.

“Here you are,” Robin says solemnly.

Oliver’s lips curve into a grin. “Subtle, much?”

“I thought of you,” Robin says truthfully. The drink has all the colours of the pride flag, separated by the yoghurt smoothie layers. “Though, it looks prettier than it tastes. Mixing it will obviously mix the flavours.”

“Easily solved,” Oliver declares, grabbing a spoon rather than a straw. He picks off a heart-shaped cookie with his fingers. “It’s _ages_ till Valentines Day, you know.”

Robin leans back against the counter, corner of his mouth tilting up. “Then I’ll simply make something even better when it comes round. It’s a shame that my opening day missed Valentines.”

Oliver pops the cookie into his mouth, a satisfied expression growing on his face. He licks the cream, and digs into the first layer—chocolate.

“It’s like an adventure,” Oliver says, smiling happily at Robin.

Robin’s chest swells. “ _You’re_ an adventure.”

Oliver grins back. “There are a lot more adventures we can have, Mr. Quan,” he says, leaning forward, looking up through his lashes, one finger catched the collar of his shirt.

Despite himself, Robin’s cheeks heat up. “Not _here_ ,” he hisses, glancing to the front of the shop. He pushes Oliver into the private back kitchen, while Oliver just tilts his head and laughs.

“And what’s the blue flavour supposed to be?”

“Blue Heaven, like the ice cream flavour.”

“Ah, that’s alright then.”

Robin makes a face. “Unfortunately, blueberries are actually _purple_ on the inside. There’s butterfly pea-flower tea, but it’s flavour is too mild for the drink.”

Oliver laughs. “So that’s the kind of thing you worry about.”

“Oh? Do you have nightmares about the strings on your guitar snapping or accidentally playing some evil music progression?”

“Hey!” Oliver retorts with mock outrage. “Accidentally playing the wrong thing can summon great evil! It’s very serious business!”

Robin can’t help himself. He wraps an arm around Oliver’s waist, lightly touching their heads together. “Very serious,” he says seriously.

“Come here,” Oliver orders, holding up a spoonful of yoghurt-mixed with matcha.

“It’s for _you_.”

“But I _want_ to. Now, open wide, here comes the aeroplane.”

Robin rolls his eyes, but obediently opens his mouth. To his pleasure, Oliver chases it with a kiss on his lips. A kiss that quickly deepens when Oliver puts down the spoon and attempts to find an opening around Robin’s apron.

Robin huffs in amusement. “We shouldn’t, I need to prepare a lot of cakes today.”

Oliver pouts. “But our weekly dinner is _so far away_.”

“Ah. We’ll have to move it,” Robin grimaces. “My parents are setting up my birthday party on Saturday, and I’ll be going back and forth between here and home. I’ll give Jenny the spare key, but I still need to prepare everything the night before and the morning of.”

Oliver’s eyes narrow. “A birthday party? Oh. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Oliver’s lips turn down.

Robin’s heart clenches. “No, it’s not like that. You can come, if you want. But I thought we could just have our own private thing. Maybe...I could even stay over on Sunday night. And I _say_ it’s my birthday party, but it’s really just an excuse for my parents to host a barbeque with _their_ extended friends—” Robin cuts himself off before he can ramble further.

Oliver bits his lips. “You want to stay over?” he says, a pleased expression growing on his face.

Robin’s tension eases at Oliver’s clear wanting. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Heh.” Oliver smirks. “Alright.”

Robin narrows his eyes, but Oliver continues on casually.

“But Sunday’s still _ages_ away. Then can we have brunch tomorrow then? Before you have to start work?”

“Of course.” Robin kisses him, sweetness between their tongues. “How about tomorrow?”

Oliver agrees immediately.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent scene breaks? never heard of it 🙈


	17. Chapter 17

## 39\. Eggs Benedict

Oliver’s brunch with Robin comes and goes. It’s not _as_ relaxing as it could be, since it’s a weekday and they both have work, but Oliver has fun sitting closer than necessary to Robin as the two of them share a plate of eggs benedict and avo toast at a nearby cafe. And holding hands under the table.

It hurts Oliver, just a little, when their hands part as they get up, and how Robin makes no move to hold his hand as they’re walking. Oliver has to content himself with a quick, one-arm hug before they have to head their separate ways.

At work, Oliver works steadily away on the sound production of the latest song his team are doing. By the time he finishes—the first round of work—it’s deep into the afternoon. He heads out to grab something, but to his guilty dismay, Anderson, Nina and Kyle are heading down the corridor.

“Afternoon,” he greets them.

“We were finalising some things,” Nina 

“We aren’t you working on our songs?” Kyle says, pouting.

“I don’t _exactly_ have control over that,” Oliver says. He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “But it’s good to hear that things _are_ going well. Right?

Kyle twists his lips, looking like he doesn’t quite believe it. “You’re just pissed off at us.”

Oliver blinks, aware that there are other people in the corridor. “Let’s not talk out here,” he says, turning back to his office. He waits grimly as his friends file inside. He shuts the door.

Anderson is glancing curiously at Oliver’s computer-keyboard setup, while both Kyle and Nina look around the entire office.

“I thought it’ll be fancier,” Kyle says, wrinkling his nose. “You turned corporate for _this_? And your view sucks.”

“Thanks, I know,” Oliver says drily. “Kyle.”

Kyle looks back at him.

“I _am_ pissed off at you, but I’m not the team working on _your_ song. _You’re_ the one who said I work on pop trash. So how could you expect me to be working on _your_ sound? Did you even think to request for me?”

Kyle pouts. “God, whatever then. When did you turn so stuck up? Go and get laid. Or is Robin not putting out?”

Oliver crosses his arms, jaw tightening. “Don’t talk about Robin like that. Kyle, you’re not a fucking teenager.” Grudgingly, Oliver adds, “Me and Robin are boyfriends now.”

Kyle starts to smirk victoriously. “Knew it. Fucking _knew it_.”

“There’s knowing about, and there’s being a dickhead about it,” Oliver points out. “What we do in private is _our_ business. Unless you’re turning into one of those nosey straights.”

“No fucking way,” Kyle immediately retorts. “Ugh. No.”

Nina narrows her eyes. “So you two _did_ get together. He seemed nice enough, if a bit distant—”

“ _You’re_ not off the hook either,” Oliver says with a burst of annoyance. “Bloody hell, Robin is—Robin’s not your friend, and it doesn’t _matter_. We are _not_ in an abusive relationship! Give me some damn credit, I know how relationships should work. Give me some _credit_. You’re not my mum, Nina. And even my mum isn’t this invasive.”

Nina’s face sours. “Oliver.”

“See? Your tone!” Oliver runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Look, I get it, I understand if you _tease_ about things. But there are boundaries, yeah? Just because Robin’s not your type doesn’t mean _I_ can’t like him. Fine, maybe I’ve been a bit of a shit friend not hanging with you three as much anymore. But your behaviour _seriously_ doesn’t help.”

Nina grimaces. “Right,” she says, sounding as if she’s in a lot of pain.

Meanwhile, Kyle’s jaw tightens. His eyes skitter away from Oliver’s look, a begrudging guilt on his face.

“I’ll go to the poetry night later this week, alright?” Oliver concedes, since he won’t have dinner with Robin on that night. “But until then, I seriously have things to do.”

“We won’t keep you,” Anderson speaks up.

“Hm.” Oliver wonders what Anderson has been saying to the other two in private, but then again, can he be bothered _caring_? “I won’t keep you either.” He opens the door and lets them back out. “Where were you heading? I lead you there.”

“Oh, right,” Nina says, pulling out her phone. She rattles off the room number they need, and Oliver shows them there before finally heading out to grab something to eat.

Maybe he could have handled his friends better. And he feels guilty for having yelled at them. But don’t they realise they should respect Robin some more?

  


## 40\. Elsewhere with Kyle et al.

Warm lights shine on the stage at the club, lighting up the musicians playing jazz music and the rainbow flag hanging on the back wall. Some patrons who are seated closer are listening and occasionally talking quietly to their friends.

Kyle, Nina, and Anderson have taken a table right at the back, and none of them are paying attention to the music. Instead, Kyle’s glaring at Nina.

“What do you _mean_ it’s my fault?” Kyle says. “I’m not Oliver’s fucking keeper! It’s not my fault he left our band! He was never one of the founding members _anyway_!”

“It’s that kind of attitude,” Nina retorts right back. “Talking like that, you’ve alienated Oliver.”

“Oliver made his own choices to work _corporate_ ,” Kyle scoffs.

“You’re just _jealous_ of him.”

“I am _not!_ Why would I, huh? The corporate music industry _sucks_.”

Nina gives him a knowing, pitiful look. “You’re jealous of Oliver’s new _boyfriend_.”

“What the fuck. I am _not_!”

“You are! You know, insulting Oliver won’t make him like you more than that Robin. You’re so obsessed with having Oliver back in the band. At this rate, I wonder if _you’re_ the one crushing on Oliver. Oliver is his own person, you know.”

Kyle stares at Nina in disbelief, his stomach churning. “Oh, like you’re any _better_ , telling Ollie he’s in some kind of _abusive relationship?!_ It’s _your_ fault Oliver doesn’t like hanging out with us!”

“No, it’s your fault!”

“You’re too nosey!”

“You’re too jealous!”

Unnoticed by either of them, Anderson is shrinking back, gaze downcast. He glances back between the two of them. Carefully determines his words and opens his mouth to speak. But before he can say anything, one of the organisers of the event nights at the club comes by.

“Um, can you two calm down?” Avery places a hand on the table, frowning. They look between Kyle and Nina. “What’s the matter?”

Kyle scoffs. “Nothing.”

“Kyle’s just not admitting his obsession with Oliver. His behaviour looks a lot like pulling pigtails from here,” Nina says. “Which is not healthy, may I add.”

“Ah, Oliver,” Avery says, nodding slightly. “Is he doing well?”

“Yes,” Kyle says grudgingly. “He doesn’t want to come to your poetry nights because he has a _boyfriend_ now.”

“...He didn’t come before that,” Anderson says quietly.

Kyle glances at him. “Are you on _Oliver’s_ side now?” he says sharply.

A stricken expression appears on Anderson’s face. He shakes his head. “On your side.” His jaw clenches a fraction, no longer willing to speak.

Kyle nods, not changing his expression, but a tiny bit of tension eases at knowing that Anderson will stick by him. They’ve been friends for much longer than they’ve known Oliver.

Avery sighs and takes a seat at the table. “It’s no fun when a friend drifts away from you. What happened?”

Nina and Kyle both tersely tell Avery of the other’s faults and stupidity and how the other person has alienated Oliver. Avery nods slowly throughout.

“I think you’re both right,” they finally say.

Kyle opens his mouth to retort, but then Anderson rests his hand on his thigh.

Avery continues, “You’re both looking out for Oliver. That’s commendable. But despite your intentions, Oliver didn’t receive your actions the way you wanted. Kyle, I know you like teasing, but sometimes other people’s boundaries aren’t the same as yours. Maybe Oliver used to be fine with it, but maybe he’s not fine with it anymore.”

Kyle stews in anger and embarrassment and this sick feeling that seems to be a lot like guilt. Anderson’s head bows down.

“And Nina...It’s good to educate people about the signs of an abusive relationship. But if it really was an abusive relationship, you need to be more careful. The last thing you want to do is alienate someone in such a vulnerable position. And hasn’t Oliver dated before in the past? He’s not new to relationships, he’s an intelligent guy.”

Nina’s face also settles into disgruntlement, but Kyle can’t crow over it at all.

“I think you both know what to do,” Avery says evenly. 

Kyle meets Nina’s eyes. They both look away at the same time and grudgingly nod.

Avery smiles. “Alright. Are you three still up for playing tomorrow night?”

“Yes, of course,” Kyle says.

Avery nods and leaves them.

Kyle slumps. “Anderson, can you get me something?”

Anderson nods. He gathers Kyle’s and Nina’s requests and heads off to the bar. 

Kyle doesn’t look at Nina. He hates feeling like he’s fucked up. But...this is serious, isn’t it? Fucking hell, _Avery_ had to talk to them about it.

But it’s also not fair. How could Robin just suddenly _appear_ and capture Oliver like that? Kyle thought he and Oliver were good friends. They had been through so many ups and downs together. Oliver leaving them...leaves an empty hole in Kyle’s chest.

“Here,” Anderson says, placing down their drinks.

Kyle blinks. Anderson has also gotten fries with the extra-hot sauce.

“Thanks,” Kyle mutters. Figures Anderson would try to cheer him up. And at least Nina got scolded as well.

  


## 41\. Grapefruitade (1) 

In the morning, Oliver makes sure to send Robin a message.

**Oliver Campbell: Morning! Happy pre-birthday! ❤️**

**Robin Quan: haha, thanks. Have a good day ❤️ And have fun at your poetry night.**

**Oliver Campbell: We’ll see…Will you be around a bit later tonight?**

**Robin Quan: Maybe 😏**

**Oliver Campbell: 🥺🥺**

**Robin Quan: Are you asking for a reward after attending?**

**Oliver Campbell: Weeeeeeelllll…**

Oliver grins at the messages, typing increasingly ridiculous replies.

*

Nostalgic familiarity settles in Oliver’s chest when he heads to the club for the poetry night.

Avery waves their hand upon spotting him. “It’s been so long,” they say, “come sit with us!”

“Heading to the bar first,” he tells them. At the bar, he grabs a nonalcoholic grapefruitade.

By the time he has his drink, Avery has shoved another table to extend an amalgamation of smaller tables. He takes a seat next to Avery, dropping a “Thanks.”

“It’s been really long,” they say, flipping pink hair out of their eyes. “We’re glad you could make it.”

Oliver’s smile is a touch sardonic as he also nods to Kyle, Anderson, and Nina who are all a few seats away, and outside of talking-distance in the noise of the club.

Oliver takes a sip of his drink. The grapefruitade is a little bitter, somewhat sweet, and fizzy in his mouth.

Avery prompts some small conversation about recent music events, and then the poetry showcase begins. It’s nostalgia times ten. He wonders how he was ever as young as the people on stage. He shakes his head and grins along with everyone else at the last, rather explicit, poem. The speaker bows extravagantly and jumps down to kiss their lover to everyone’s applause.

“Speaking of partners, on this table, we don’t know about _you_ ,” Avery says, eyes dancing. “Not that you have to answer—”

Oliver glances at Kyle, who makes a face and shrugs one shoulder. Looking back to the rest of the group, Oliver reveals, “I’m officially off the market. _My_ boyfriend makes the best desserts.”

Bright smiles and grins erupt around the table, and Oliver gladly accepts all the well-wishes.

“Ey, do you think we could have some of your boyfriend’s desserts?” someone calls out.

Oliver clears his throat. “Actually, he has a shop. It’s called _Matcha & Milk_.”

“What, really?!”

“I know that place!”

More than one person takes out their phone.

“The desserts and drinks look really pretty.”

“They’re really that good,” Oliver says proudly.

“Ohmygod,” Avery says, staring at their phone. “They have a new rainbow drink? That’s so gay.”

“Wait, really?” Oliver quickly opens up _Matcha & Milk_’s page himself, and indeed, the most recent post is advertising it as a new menu item starting next week.

“It looks so good,” Avery gushes.

Oliver can’t help but grin. “Yep, it does.”

“You’ve had it?”

“Yep,” Oliver says smugly.

“Boyfriend benefits,” Kyle quips. “He’s given you a sweet tooth.”

“Hey, no shade,” Avery admonishes. “We’ll _have_ to check it out.”

Oliver hums with pride and happily encourages them.

*

As the night deepens, someone suggests a round of drinks. Oliver glances at the time on his phone, though, and shakes his head. He stands up. “I should get going now. It was great seeing everyone.”

He gives a series of farewells, but as he makes to leave, Kyle hurries after him, quickly followed by Nina and Anderson.

Oliver exits the club first, exhaling. The air is cold, and under the bright lights, his breath is condensing into a fine mist. He turns round to face them, stomach tight, hands in his pockets. “What is it?”

  


_to be continued_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta ~~catch them all~~ have all variations of avo toast
> 
> Also, sometimes face-slapping is good, but sometimes helping characters realise their wrongs instead of just being cannon fodder is good too (I've been reading wayyy too many translated chinese novels lately, especially the ones involve rebirth of mistreated characters)
> 
> Mini theatre:  
> No one: ..  
> Oliver: Robin is the best!


	18. Chapter 18

## 41\. Grapefruitade (2)

Nina steps up first. “Oliver. I’m sorry for my inappropriate comments relating to your relationship with Robin. Robin seems to be a hard worker, and your reduced contact with us isn’t really about Robin, but about... _us_. We’re sorry we made you feel like hanging out with us was a chore. I hope we can put this behind us and move forward, and hang out in the future. I hope you accept my apology, but I understand if you don’t.”

Her words are smooth and formulaic, and Oliver finds himself easily enough saying, “I accept.”

Not because Nina’s words are so earnest that it softens Oliver’s heart, but because...when Nina said _hanging out with us is a chore_ , Oliver realises that it’s true.

He has moved on from Nina and the others. They’re moving in separate circles, along different paths. It costs him virtually nothing to accept her apology.

“Thank you.” Nina steps back and gives Kyle a meaningful look.

Oliver also looks at Kyle, whose jaw is tightening, hands clenching, eyes on Oliver. Like a misbehaved person who doesn’t want to _say_ sorry, but is trying to communicate it telepathically.

“ _I’m_ sorry,” Anderson’s voice breaks the silence.

Kyle startles. “What?”

“You were uncomfortable,” Anderson says softly to Oliver. “But I didn’t help you out. Kyle is my best friend... But you’re my friend too. I was complicit. In the future, I will try harder to speak out.”

Oliver, after recovering from the surprise of hearing so many words from Anderson, nods. “Okay.”

“Why did you say that?” Kyle demands of Anderson, looking really guilty. “It’s not your fault…”

“I was part of the problem.”

Kyle’s shoulders slump. He exhales, and turns to Oliver, and his words come out in a rush. “Oliver. Sorry. I wish you were back in the band with us. But it’s clear that you’re doing better than us. You even have a steady boyfriend, but that’s not a good excuse.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Oliver points out. “We’re all old enough to have steady partners.”

“Yeah, well,” Kyle scuffs his feet, glances at Anderson, and says, “Anyway. Whatever. Sorry. Can we go out for lunch some day you’re free?”

Oliver remains silent.

“I won’t make any jokes about Robin! And—and I won’t force you to eat spicy stuff... _Please_?”

Oliver sighs. “Alright. I’ll hold you to that.”

Kyle winces. “Yeah. Okay. Anyway. And we should get together to jam at least once, just like the old days.”

“Hm,” he says noncommittally. “Don’t be afraid of changing your sound, or doing something different.”

“I suppose…”

Oliver looks at all three of his old friends, and says decisively, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Have a good night,” Nina says.

“Yeah, what she said,” Kyle adds.

He gives them a farewell and walks away.

*

Kyle’s eyes linger on Oliver’s receding back. Like a chapter in his life has closed. There is no going back to what they had before. While Kyle had been messing around Oliver had gone and become decently famous and found a proper boyfriend too.

There is definitely jealousy in his gut.

Nina sighs. “That went well,” she says, sarcasm in her voice. “Damn it, I need a girlfriend. Well, I’m heading back inside. You boys have a good night.” She heads back in.

Anderson looks at Kyle.

“It’s fine,” Kyle says, answering Anderson’s unspoken question. 

“Pizza?” Anderson asks.

Kyle blinks. “Yeah.” That’s exactly what he wants. He can already imagine it, topped with all the salami and jalapenos.

Together, Kyle and Anderson start off towards their favourite pizzeria.

“I can just make new friends, you know,” Kyle mutters to Anderson.

Anderson nods..

Kyle huffs and lengthens his stride. Anderson easily keeps up with his longer legs.

“Yeah. It’s fine,” Kyle says. Probably better for them to separate from Oliver. And you know what? Kyle’s going to do better and grow and be just as successful as Oliver, let’s see how Oliver likes him _then!_

*

Meanwhile, Oliver’s forgotten about his old friends, and is only thinking what he can do to please his best boyfriend.

  


## 42\. Matcha Crepe Cake

Oliver picks up a large box of takeaway and heads down to Robin’s shop. The late night reminds him of the first time he’d been brave enough to enter. Seeing how far they’ve come warms Oliver’s chest.

Without people blocking the front facade, he suddenly notices the _pride sticker_ on the glass near the door, next to the larger displays.

It’s a small act that reminds Oliver that the large proportion of the world isn’t safe or accepting. He smiles wryly. If he brought his big brother here, Cameron would definitely say it’s so gay, despite being something so tiny.

There are no customers, so Oliver happily heads inside. “Hey there,” he greets, sliding off his sunglasses.

Robin’s eyes brighten. “Hi there. Unfortunately, I was just about to close up...if you’ll step into the back.”

Oliver grins. “Oh, yeah? Of course, sir.” There’s always a thrill when Oliver goes behind the counter and into the kitchen in the back: he’s seeing something that not many people will. In the back kitchen, a number of machines are whirring—the ice cream machine, various stand mixers. The light dims as Robin turns off the front lights, before he heads to the kitchen too, closing the door behind him.

Oliver places the takeaway box on the encounter and steps up to him, resting a hand on Robin’s hip and placing a kiss on Robin’s lips. “Busy day?” he murmurs. “I saw the line ‘round lunch.”

Robin quirks his lips. “Yeah. It’s lucky that I’d hired Damien. And Jenny learned how to make teh tarik pretty quickly.” He leans back. “Are you hungry?”

Oliver raises his eyebrows. “For what?” he says suggestively.

“ _No_ , Oliver,” Robin says. “There are health standards to keep up back here.”

Oliver pouts. “No fair.” He opens the takeaway box, revealing an assortment of sushi and tempura. “I thought you’d be a bit hungry. Since you won’t come to my place tonight…?” Oliver trails off suggestively.

“I can’t,” Robin says regretfully. “Oh, you got the spicy salmon?”

“For you,” Oliver agrees. He also made sure to get two pairs of disposable chopsticks, and the two of them dig in.

“Making basic sushi isn’t too difficult,” Robin muses. “I could teach you how.”

Oliver pouts. “Oh, won’t my boyfriend make sushi for me?”

Robin gives him a bright grin. “Won’t _my_ boyfriend make sushi for me? Now, open your mouth.”

Oliver opens up obediently and accepts the morsel of sashimi.

“Do you buy lunch?” Oliver asks.

“Sometimes, sometimes I pack my own, or leftovers from home,” Robin says. He raises an eyebrow. “Planning something?”

Oliver grins. “Nooo,” he denies.

Once they finish, Robin heads to the fridge. Oliver leans forward in anticipation, looking curiously at what Robin’s just pulled out. It’s a slice of cake, except it’s not the standard two-or-three layers of sponge. Instead, there are _dozens_ of pale layers in-between a green matcha cream.

“This is a matcha crepe cake,” Robin says, handing Oliver a fork.

“Wait, _literally_ made out of crepes?”

“Literally,” Robin says, pulling a face. “You cannot believe how long it takes to make.”

Oliver cuts through the cake and scoops it into his mouth. The matcha cream is delicate, and while the layers of crepe are not as fluffy as a standard sponge cake, it _is_ surprisingly soft. Using the edge of his fork, Oliver carefully lifts the top layer of crepe and just eats that. To be honest, it tastes better like that, so Oliver does it again.

Robin huffs, but he’s smiling. “I’m glad you enjoyed that, but next time I’ll just make you crepes then.” He goes to stop one of the mixers, and starts transferring the mixture to a cake tin. “How was your day? You said you had that poetry night.”

Oliver leans back against the opposite counter. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says. He thinks a moment about telling Robin about the apologies, but decides that he’ll wait to see whether they’ll actually act on their words first.

So instead, in between eating each delicious layer of crepe, Oliver tells Robin about the different poems and poets and songs.

“Some of my friends are looking forward to the rainbow smoothie,” Oliver adds. “At this rate, you’ll become more famous than me!”

Robin rolls his eyes. “I was thinking about more rainbow desserts. A bit of colour is nice in the cold days.”

“Everything you make is good,” Oliver declares. He sighs as he finishes the last of the crepe cake. “I hope your birthday goes well.”

“Thank you.”

Oliver hums, drawing Robin towards him and kissing him. The flavour of matcha and Robin is familiar and comforting and a touch addictive, and Oliver can’t help but tilt his head, deepening the kiss. He tries to pull Robin closer, but to his dismay, Robin pulls away.

“Oliver,” Robin says, apologetic.

“I know, I know,” Oliver says. “Take that as an early birthday present. I leave you to it. But Sunday, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Robin kisses him on the cheek.

Robin leads him out, but before Oliver leaves, he turns round and gives Robin another kiss.

  


## 43\. Taro Cream Chiffon Cake

Travelling back and forth between home and the city is a pain, but Robin’s parents have been stern about his appearance at his birthday party. He makes all the desserts and components for the drinks at the shop required for the whole day, while Jenny takes responsibility serving their customers and supervising Damien. By the time he’s done, it’s late afternoon and he leaves Jenny and Damien to it while he heads home.

There’s already the smell of cooking meat when Robin returns home. Cars line the road, and some have even parked in the front yard, tail-to-tail. It’ll be a mess trying to get some of those inner cars out if they want to leave first.

Robin heads to the backyard, where his dad has set up the barbeque and makeshift tables and plastic chairs.

“Everyone, my son,” his dad announces loudly in Vietnamese, telling everyone Robin’s Vietnamese name in case they forgot. His dad continues to ramble on about Robin’s age, about Robin’s new small business, about how it’s getting popular..

“Hue, take over for me,” his dad says, handing the BBQ tongs over to one of his friends. “Robin, Robin, come here.” He nudges Robin to one of his other friends and their family. “Robin, my friend has a daughter your age, Hana, yes?”

Hana glances up from her phone. “Er, hey,” she greets, her eyes slowly going down again.

“Robin, sit next to her,” his dad says.

Robin shakes his dad off. “ _Dad_ ,” he says. “You know I have a _friend_ already.”

His dad narrows his eyes. “Of course you have friends. Now, make a girl-friend.”

Robin resists. “Did Mum pick up my birthday cake?”

“Of course. Son—”

Thankfully, the back door opens and some of Robin’s highschool friends emerge.

“Hey, Robin!” Quoc says in English. “Long time no see, man! Wow, this is a party.”

“I need to talk to my friends,” Robin tells his father. He nods at Hana. “Nice to meet you,” he says in English. Robin detaches from his father and goes to catch up with Quoc and the others.

As the afternoon turns to night, there are fairly distinct groups scattered around the house and backyard—his dad’s friends hang around the bbq, and his mum’s friends in the kitchen/dining, and Robin’s old high school and uni friends in the living room. Among his old friends, they talk about things like games and anime. There’s no space for him to tell them about Oliver. It just never feels right to bring it up.

His mum is the one who announces cake time, bringing out a very large taro cream chiffon cake (not durian in respect for those who don’t like durian), and fussing over every candle placed on top. The birthday song is a mash of the English and Vietnamese version.

“Do you want to save a slice for Oliver?” Lark asks him once everyone who wants one is served a slice—there’s still at least a third of the cake left.

“Oh, I can do that.” He packs a slice into an opaque plastic container and labels it

**Robin Quan: I have cake for you!**

**[picture of cake]**

**Oliver Campbell: 👀**

**Oliver Campbell: Having a good birthday?**

**Robin Quan: Yeah 😊**

Robin sighs lightly, and tucks his phone back in his pocket.

“Eh, who’s Oliver?” Quoc asks, handing the game controller to another friend. His paper plate, cake eaten, sits precariously on the coffee table.

Robin freezes. “Huh?”

“This Oliver, couldn’t he make it to the party?”

“Er, no, he could have made it…” Robin says slowly. “He’s white—”

Quoc rolls his eyes. “Chris is white,” he points out.

“What’s this about me?” says Chris, whose eyes are still glued on the TV screen.

“He’s basically honorary Vietnamese now,” Robin says.

“Yep,” Chris says.

“Anyway, if this Oliver guy came, then maybe Chris wouldn’t feel so lonely,” Quoc quips, laughing to himself.

Robin’s hands grow clammy. His heart thuds in his chest. “It’s because...Oliver’s my boyfriend.” He pauses, and quickly continues, “And you know my mum and dad, they’re like, _you know_ , about it, and I didn’t want him to have to face that, and we’re going to have our own dinner anyway—”

Quoc blinks. “Wait up. _Boyfriend_?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Seriously, Quoc, didn’t you know he was gay?” Anne, an old uni friend, says. “You aren’t homophobic, are you?”

“Wait, I didn’t say that!” Quoc protests, his eyes a little shifty.

Robin exhales forcefully. “I’m gay and Oliver’s my boyfriend. Are we seriously going to play Smash all night?”

“Mario Kart!” Chris yells, as his character wins the round. 

“Damn yes, Mario Kart,” Anne agrees. “Lark, you playing?”

Lark glances at Robin. “Yeah. But first, does anyone want more food? There’s _so much_ left.”

“Nah,” Anne says, “Your mum’ll give us the leftovers anyway, right? Come on, us versus them.”

As the conversation moves away from Robin, Robin slowly relaxes. He watches his sister and friends play—there’s not enough controllers for everyone.

And slowly realises that it wasn’t so bad telling his friends about Oliver. Not bad at all. Knowing that they know loosens a knot in his chest.

  


## 44\. Pastry-Wrapped Halloumi

On Sunday night, Oliver waits outside Robin’s shop like a dutiful boyfriend, waiting for Robin to finish for the night. His stomach churns with anticipation, and when Robin finally comes out, Oliver’s gratified to see that Robin has an overnight bag.

“Hey,” Oliver says, bumping their arms together. “How was your birthday party yesterday? Tell me about it.”

Oliver listens as Robin tells him a bit about the people who came. He tries not to feel jealous of Robin’s old school friends, especially since right now Oliver has Robin to himself. His anticipation spikes as they head inside, and Oliver locks the door behind him.

Today, Robin has cat socks.

“I’ll just leave this in your bedroom?” Robin says, lifting up his overnight bag.

Oliver preses a hand over Robin’s chest. “Your first gift involves the bedroom.”

Robin’s eyes darken, his eyes flickering down to Oliver’s lips. Oliver presses him against the wall and kisses him deeply, letting his hands roam over Robin’s body, tugging off Robin’s coat and pulling his shirt out of his trousers.

“Oliver, bedroom,” Robin says, his voice low and husky. “We’re _not_ undressing right by the front door.”

Oliver pouts. “Don’t you have a single exhibitionist bone in your body?” he teases. When Robin gives him a dry look, Oliver pretends to be innocent. He wraps an arm around Robin’s waist and drags him to the bedroom. Robin’s overnight bag drops by the door.

“On the bed,” Oliver says.

“Alright.” Robin lies down, black hair setting on the pillow, his shirt in disarray. Oliver’s heart skips a beat. Robin’s eyelids lower, his lips curling up. “Come here, Oliver.”

Oliver crawls onto the bed, situating himself in the cradle of Robin’s legs and proceeds to kiss Robin. Oliver’s cock stiffens as Robin’s tongue slides over his and _oh_ , the sneaky bastard, slipping his hands under Oliver’s shirt! Oliver retaliates by undoing Robin’s belt and opening his trousers. He grasps Robin’s hot cock, a sense of thrilling power when Robin moans into the kiss.

Oliver breaks the kiss as he focuses on pumping Robin’s cock. Heat wells in his belly as Robin’s cock hardens in his fist.

“Now, for your present,” Oliver says, drawing back onto his knees. With his other hand, he pulls out a condom packet, and with ease, slips it over Robin’s dick.

Robin’s eyes are wide. “Oliver?”

Oliver shifts back on the bed, lowering his head over Robin’s cock. “Is this okay?” he breathes, licking his lips for good measure.

Robin, wide-eyed, nods. A hesitant hand traces the curls off Oliver’s face.

“Good,” Oliver says, and puts Robin’s dick in his mouth and swallows.

“Oh, fuck,” Robin moans.

Oliver almost laughs at the sound of Robin swearing. He sucks, massaging Robin’s balls with his hand. “Tell me how good it feels,” he says, before descending again.

Robin’s body trembles. “It feels really, really good. Your mouth—it’s good. Really good—” Robin’s voice rises into a moan as Oliver swallows.

He sticks his free hand down his trousers, wanking and sucking in tandem.

“Oliver—Oliver—” Robin mumbles. “I’m about to—”

Oliver sucks even harder, and is rewarded with Robin’s gasping, “ _Fuck_ ,” as he comes, pulsing inside the condom.

“Ollie, come here,” Robin says, tugging at Oliver’s shoulder.

Oliver crawls up Robin’s body, letting Robin wrap his firm warm hand around Oliver’s cock.

“Yes, yes, like that,” Oliver pants when Robin tugs _just so_. He comes with a low groan all over Robin’s clothes. “Fuck!” He collapses on Robin, now transferring that mess onto _his_ clothes too.

Robin chuckles breathlessly, his mouth pressing against Oliver’s hair.

“Thanks for the present, Oliver,” Robin says.

Oliver hums into Robin’s neck, licking the delicate skin there. Robin laughs, nudging Oliver back.

“If you’re hungry, I have _two_ desserts. There’s the cake I saved you, but I ended up making something else too.”

Oliver looks up at Robin’s face, tracing the lines and curves of Robin’s nose and lips and back up to his eyes. “...We should be adults and have dinner first.”

Robin rolls over on top of Oliver. “ _You’re_ dessert,” he says.

Oliver grins. “You’re so cheesy,” he says, touching Robin’s face.

“Well, you know I like milk products…”

Oliver laughs. “Come here.” He pulls Robin’s head down for a languid kiss.

They end up making out until Oliver’s stomach grumbles. Oliver flushes at Robin’s knowing look. They separate, and Robin grimaces when he sees their clothes.

“Do you want to have a shower now? I’ll put dinner in the oven,” Oliver says.

“Yeah, if that’s alright.”

“Of course. And you can use the gingerbread shower gel if you want,” he adds, winking.

“Hm, but I rather smell it on _you_ ,” Robin drawls.

Oliver has to bite back a grin. “Come on, come on,” he says inside, nudging Robin towards the bathroom.

All the sides have been made, and the oven preheated. Oliver slips the tray of filled filo pastry into the oven, and goes back to the bedroom to change out his clothes into pyjamas. The smell of crispy pastry soon fills the air.

When Robin re-emerges, his hair wet and scruffy as he scrubs it with a towel. Oliver is heating up the mash and throwing the salad together. Oliver’s fully aware of how Robin’s gaze drags down his body.

“I should have put on proper clothes, shouldn’t I?” Oliver says, seriously regretting his life choices.

“Huh? No, no. You look...fine. The teddy bears on your pyjamas are cute.” Robin clears his throat. “I’ll see the table. It looks like the oven timer’s about done.”

Oliver smiles. “Carry these over for me?” He motions to the two large bowls of potato mash and cucumber-tomato-olive salad.

“Sure.”

From the oven, Oliver removes the tray of halloumi wrapped in filo pastry and transfers them to a large plate.

“So,” Oliver says as he brings that and a large jar of mint-and-lemon infused water. “You said you liked milk products. These are basically cheese wrapped in pastry.”

Robin’s lips quirk up. “Looks fancy. A-plus, Mr. Campbell.”

Oliver brightens. “Yeah? Do I get a gold star?”

“All the gold stars,” Robin affirms.

Oliver waits for Robin to take a bite first before starting himself. _Mmmm_. Oliver mentally pats himself on the back. The halloumi has a bit of bite, and there’s extra mozzarella and parmesan that Oliver added for extra cheesiness.

“It’s delicious,” Robin says. “And look at this cheese pull. Very fancy.”

Oliver beams.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dust off hands* now that's the end of the arc involving Kyle and the others!
> 
> I still say durian birthday cake is better than the taro version hahaha, but that's because I love durian :^)
> 
> *At Robin's shop*  
> Oliver: But I wanted to *do it* over the counter...  
> Robin: ...  
> Robin: *pats Oliver's head*
> 
> Oliver: *cooks without burning anything*  
> Robin: Very good.  
> Oliver: *wags tail*
> 
> Am I sorry that Oliver is dissolving into a cute puppy? NO


	19. Chapter 19

## 45\. Black Sesame Brownies

When Oliver learns that he gets to choose between the black sesame and peanut butter brownies that Robin made, versus the taro chiffon cake that Robin’s mum bought from a local bakery, Oliver immediately chooses the brownies.

“And we can have the cake for breakfast,” he quickly adds.

Robin gives him an amused look. “Alright.”

“But wait, before we have them, let me grab your presents.”

“You didn’t have to, your company was all I wanted—”

“Just _wait_ ,” Oliver says. He tugs aside the pride flag hiding his three gifts.

Robin is seated on the sofa, waiting with warm eyes.

“Here you go,” Oliver says, placing the three items in Robin’s lap. He sits down next to Robin, crossing his legs up on the sofa.

“Thank you, Oliver,” Robin says, nudging him softly.

“Just open them, I can’t stand the suspense,” Oliver says with mock drama.

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “Alright.” He ends up opening the squarish package first: it’s a glass teapot set for two, and there are sample packs of various loose leaf teas. “Wow, Oliver—”

“I thought, since you liked tea, you would like this.”

“I’ll have to leave this here,” Robin says.

Oliver’s stomach drops—

“—So that we can try these different teas out together,” Robin finishes.

“Oh.” Oliver looks away in embarrassment. “Can you make loose-leaf tea like this?”

Robin nods. “My parents drink loose leaf tea all the time. Rather, they _only_ drink loose leaf tea.”

Oliver’s eyes slowly slide back to Robin. “So, you’re saying you’ll come over in the morning in the future?” he says with a hint of slyness.

“Isn’t that why you bought the set for _two_ instead of one?” Robin raises an eyebrow.

Oliver pouts. “Just open the next one.”

Robin nudges their shoulders together. He puts the tea set box on the coffee table and opens the next package. He lifts up the cloth, revealing an apron with the words _Kiss The Cook ❤️._

Robin snorts. “If my _parents_ saw this...and it’s definitely not suitable for the shop. I’ll never be able to wear this in public.”

Oliver swallows. “What about holding hands in public? Or would you never do that either?”

Robin’s brows furrow. He puts down the apron. “I didn’t realise,” he says slowly. “Do you want me to?”

“If we were a straight couple, it wouldn’t even be a question,” Oliver says. “Ugh, forget about it. I know some guys don’t like holding hands anyway.”

Robin takes Oliver’s hands. “Oliver.” Robin purses his lips, and only continues when Oliver looks up again. “I’m not comfortable with public displays of affection. It was never a thing when I grew up, either. It just doesn’t feel _right_ to be like that in public. It’s not as though I need to claim you in front of others. And in private, I don’t have to worry about other people. In private, I can focus all my attention on _you_ , Oliver.”

Robin’s gaze is dark and direct, and so earnest. Oliver feels his cheeks heating up under that focus. “Oh.”

None of his previous boyfriends were like this...well, none of them were Robin.

“But I’ll hold your hand in public. But I won’t do this in public—” here, Robin lifts Oliver’s hands and kisses them.

The softness of Robin’s lips on his hand sends a shiver across his skin.

“Alright, alright, you made your point,” Oliver says, trying to cool and collected. He tugs a hand away from Robin and coolly slings it across Robin’s shoulders. “Open the last gift.”

Robin does so, revealing a sleek black glasses case—and sunglasses inside.

“Is this—”

“The exact same pair I have,” Oliver says proudly. “So we can match.”

Robin’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “Oh, Oliver,” he says. He sets the gifts aside and kisses Oliver. “Thank you. Now I can be as cool as you.”

“You think I’m cool?”

“Fishing for compliments, Mr. Campbell?”

“Ooo, Robin, what was your first impression of me?”

Robin raises an eyebrow. “You were some weird guy who wore sunnies at night.”

Oliver pulls a face. “Thanks for keeping that opinion to yourself.”

“Oliver,” Robin says, touching him lightly on the chest. “Would you like some brownies?”

“That’s called a distraction tactic,” Oliver says, but he promptly shifts the box of brownies from the coffee table to his lap. The black sesame and lighter-brown peanut butter swirls are clearly visible against chocolate of the brownie, and there are black sesame seeds and coarsely chopped peanuts scattered on top, too. Oliver lifts up a little square and takes a bite.

There is a strong scent of nuttiness coming from the sesame and peanuts, a taste that dissolves into the rich chocolate of the brownie itself. He finds himself licking his lips to catch the stray crumbs. “Oh, these are so good,” he mumbles around his food. “Wait. Isn’t this supposed to be your birthday? _I’m_ the one who should have made dessert!”

Robin’s lips quirk up. “It’s no bother. Seeing you enjoy what I make is a gift in and of itself.”

“Getting very cheesy there, Robin,” Oliver says. But given how many times Robin has told him that...maybe it’s true. Oliver moans, trying not to smile. “I can’t believe you.” He moves the piece of brownie to Robin’s lips, and Robin dutifully takes a bite.

“Hm, what do I need to do to convince you?” Robin says.

Oliver takes another bite of the brownie to avoid speaking. His body relaxes again as the sweet chocolate and deep nutty flavours fill his senses.

“Speaking of, I wrote a new song.” Oliver moves the box of brownies back to the coffee table.

“Oh?” Robin sits back up, looking attentive as Oliver retrieves his guitar and sits back down.

“I wrote a song for you.”

A smirk grows on Robin’s lips. “Now _that’s_ cheesy.”

Oliver pokes him in the arm. “Quiet, you.”

Robin clears his throat, and props his chin on his hand, gaze direct and heavy. “I’m all ears.”

Oliver has to look away, strumming a few chords to warm up. Then, he starts.

  


## 46\. Sunny Side Up Eggs (and Taro Cream Chiffon Cake)

The first thing Robin notices when he wakes up is the noise—the sound of traffic and _people_ in Melbourne city is louder than in the suburbs. The second thing he notices is Oliver’s arm slung over him.

Robin turns around in bed to face Oliver, a sense of awe and _I can’t believe this is happening_ in his chest. The dim light traces the outline of Oliver’s face, and those lips that kissed Robin quite often last night.

And best of all, Robin has an _extra hour_ to spend with Oliver, because he doesn’t have to commute in.

Robin slips out of bed first to go to the bathroom. When he returns, Oliver makes a groaning sound.

“Rooooobin,” he mumbles. “Sleep in.”

“It’s Monday, don’t you have work too?” Robin says, sitting down on the bed.

Oliver groans. “No work. Only sleep.”

“Do you want breakfast? Or brunch, given the time.”

Oliver opens his eyes, giving Robin a look of betrayal.

“Alright, cuddle,” Robin acquiesces. “Are you sure you weren’t a koala in a previous life?”

Robin slips back in bed, and Oliver is quick to sling an arm _and_ leg over Robin.

At first, Robin’s constantly thinking about how handsome Oliver is, taking careful catalogue of his eyelashes, of the curve of his cheeks, the coil of his curls. But inevitably, Robin’s thoughts turn to the things he needs to do at the shop today—decorating the cakes, transferring the icecream to the front, preparing the fruit…

“I really need to get up now,” Robin says regretfully.

Oliver pouts. “Fine.” Oliver gets up when Robin does. As Robin heads to the kitchen, Oliver pads sleepily to the bathroom.

Robin puts on his gift apron and starts making breakfast; by the time Oliver re-emerges, hair wet and body smelling faintly of gingerbread, Robin has prepared tea, toast, sunny-side up eggs, and washed up all the dishes from last night.

Oliver pouts. “Why didn’t you wait for me to cook?”

Robin smooths down his apron pointedly, until Oliver reads the words.

Oliver huffs. “Evil,” he mutters, and finally gives Robin a kiss.

“I had time,” Robin says. “Sit, I’ll pour you some tea. It’s the earl grey, and it’ll go well with some of that taro birthday cake, if you want.”

Oliver immediately nods his head and promptly takes a seat. 

The meal passes in quiet conversation and warm smiles. They have the eggs and toast while it’s still warm, yolk runny and rich. (Robin makes a note to acquire avocados for next time.) The earl grey tea has a delicate fragrance, and Robin hides a smile behind his cup as Oliver’s eyes brighten at the cake.

“So this is your birthday cake,” Oliver muses as he takes a bite. “Hmm, it’s really fluffy. Not _that_ much taro. But I think I liked my birthday cake better.”

Robin gives him a fond look. “There’s no need to insult other bakers.”

“But I like _your_ desserts best,” Oliver says, even as he continues eating the cake.

“Flattery like that will get you anywhere,” Robin says, lips quirking up.

Oliver’s eyes alight. “Hm, I’ll keep that in mind.” His foot nudges Robin’s under the table.

Robin smiles back just as innocently and nudges him back, his heart warm and calm.

  


## 47\. Custard-Apple Pastries

On Tuesday morning, Oliver heads out to Robin’s shop right at opening time. There’s no line yet at this point—the desserts and sweet drinks _are_ typically eaten after a meal.

Oliver heads inside, and is surprised to find Robin standing _outside_ the counter with his apron on. He’s talking to another person, and they both turn to Oliver.

“Oh, hey,” Robin says, his voice warm.

“Ah, so this is Oliver,” the other person says.

Oliver blinks, confused. He’s never seen this person before. Has Robin shown pictures of him to them?

“Oliver, this is my sister Lark.”

“ _Older_ sister, I’ll have you know,” she says, holding her hand out.

“Oh!” Oliver smiles, shaking her hand. “Robin’s told me a lot about you.”

Lark’s eyebrows go up. “Oh he has, has he?” she says, throwing a smirk at Robin. “What’s your favourite football team?”

“Women’s Carlton Blues,” Oliver immediately answers.

Lark’s smirk turns into an assessing grin. “Hm, so he _has_ been talking. What can Robin do for you?”

“That’s _my_ question,” Robin says, nudging his sister.

Oliver grins a little, tickled to see the two siblings interacting. “A pastry or muffin, I need to head into work soon.”

“In that case,” Lark says, “You’ve _got_ to try Robin’s new custard-apple pastries— _not_ apple and custard, mind you. Custard-apple as in the fruit.”

Robin sighs. “She’s right,” he says, his expression softening when his gaze shifts to Oliver. “Custard-apples are in season right now.” He goes around to the counter and picks up two pastries for Oliver.

“...Wait, let me pay!” Oliver says, stepping forward.

“ _Oliver_ …”

“Isn’t friend-privileges like...corruption?”

Jenny, at the counter, gives the lightest sigh of exasperation.

“Fine,” Robin acquiesces, but the look in his eye promises _things_ for Oliver’s future.

Oliver grins, handing over his credit card. “Thanks,” he says, as he accepts the pastries. “I’ll...see you tomorrow?”

Robin nods. “Have a good day at work.”

“You too.”

“I’m heading out too,” Lark says, heading to the door. She holds it open—”After you, Oliver.”

“Don’t buy anything from her!” Robin calls out.

Lark winks at Oliver. “Oh no, I would _never_ swindle dear Oliver!”

Oliver grins.

“Which way are you headed?” Lark asks.

“Down here.”

Lark nods, and falls in-step alongside him. “Say, Oliver. I hope you know you turn my brother into a blushing mess.”

Oliver laughs, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Are you allowed to say that?”

“As his big sister, definitely,” Lark smirks. Her smile softens. “You better keep my brother happy or you’ll find your insides becoming outsides, alright?”

For a moment, the words and Lark’s casual tone don’t match in Oliver’s head. Oliver snorts in surprise. “I understand perfectly. Where are you headed?”

“As long as you understand,” Lark says. “There’s a conference on gender inequality in sports.”

Oliver nods thoughtfully. “I hope it goes well.”

“Hm. I’m turning this way now. Have a good day, Oliver. And I hope to see you again. I have a lot of embarrassing stories to tell you,” she adds, winking.

Oliver grins, Lark’s words warming his heart.

He arrives at the company before he remembers the pastries in hand. He takes one partially out of the brown paper bag, immediately salivating at the scent of rich buttery pastry and sweet fruit. He takes a bite, careful not to spill any flaky pastry.

There is fresh custard-apple on top of the pastry: it’s sweet and soft, making the pastry more like dessert than breakfast. Oliver quite likes how Robin has flavours that are in season. He might ask Robin in the future to let him try all these different fruits on their own.

The click of footsteps alerts him to Mia’s approach.

“You’re making me jealous,” Mia says, instead of greeting him. She looks at the half-eaten pastry in his hand as though in betrayal.

Oliver smiles proudly. “I bet you can guess where I got it from.”

“ _Matcha & Milk_, right? At this point, you could probably be their unofficial spokesperson,” she says. “Damn it, do you think there’ll be any left by lunch time?”

“Given that you helped me on my recent song, you can have half of my second one,” Oliver says benevolently, holding up the paper bag. 

“Are you sure?”

“Sure.”

Mia’s smile brightens. “Thanks!”

“Hmm, yum,” Mia agrees as she bites into her portion of the pastry. “You know, I think I understand why you didn’t like sweet stuff before,” she says contemplatively. “This stuff has much more complexity of flavour. It’s not just sugar hitting you in the face.”

Oliver nods in agreement. “If you want, I can buy a third item whenever I’m there for you.”

Mia shakes her head. “No, it’s fine, you should kick me in the pants and make me get my own food.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Come on, it’s fine.”

Mia grins in exasperation. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re trying to get to my heart through my stomach.”

Oliver’s smile becomes sheepish. Isn’t that basically what Robin did?

( _Cough._ )Though maybe Oliver _might_ have been affected before even tasting the food…

  


## 48\. Caramel Macchiato

When the dreaded 3.30pm time comes by, many people at the company start becoming lethargic. But today, Mia has sent a group message to people in her team, including Oliver.

**Mia: COFFEE RUN to celebrate our recent project! Send me your coffee requests and I’ll have it delivered! Ordering from XXX coffee shop!**

And in a private message to Oliver, she has added: **If you want two drinks, or something else, you get special privileges 😉**

Oliver has to roll his eyes when Mia comes knocking on his door barely a minute after her message.

“I mean it,” she says. “Your word, my command, etcetera.”

“Just a caramel macchiato is fine,” Oliver says. He could have chosen something more fancy, but Mia’s not ordering from Robin’s shop, which admittedly, doesn’t have the full range of coffee drinks and complexity _some_ of the coffee snobs on their team would request.

“Won’t be longer than fifteen minutes,” Mia promises. “I’ll bring it to the tea room.”

Fifteen minutes later, Oliver receives Mia’s message to come to the tea room. He exits his office, striking up conversation with the other people in his team who are also heading over in anticipation.

“You could almost think Mia’s trying to butter us up for something,” one colleague says, grinning.

The tea room is noisy. All the drinks are labelled, and Mia is handing them out. Unlike many of the other drink orders which are hot and thus in opaque coffee cups, Oliver’s order is in a clear plastic cup, with the graduation between brown coffee and white milk very clear.

“...Hey Ollie, what do you have there?” a colleague says curiously. “It almost looks like a latte.”

“What, that’s sacrilegious!” someone else says. “Both of you, I just _know_ you guys didn’t order expressos.”

Oliver holds his drink and tilts his head up. “It’s a caramel macchiato, and I’m going to enjoy my liquid afternoon snack, thank you very much.”

More than one person looks at him in surprise.

“That’s...a big jump from an Americano,” someone says.

Mia laughs. “You all...Just drink your damn coffee! A lot of hard work went into this coffee run!”

Oliver sips his drink and gives a hum of appreciation. Bitter, fragrant coffee is balanced out with the milk and the caramel, to the point that it almost tastes like how coffee smells.

“At this rate, you’ll go to Starbucks next. How could you betray Melbourne like that?” someone says dramatically.

Oliver tilts his head. “What are you talking about? I’m going to small local businesses.”

“ _Seriously_ ,” Mia jumps in. “You all have to go to _Matcha & Milk_. You remember the cupcakes and macarons I bought for Annie’s birthday? From there.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember seeing that on my feed.”

Oliver smiles like a proud parent. “You should definitely go. And support my boyfriend,” he can’t help but add.

Mia’s eyes snap to him. “Boyfriend?”

“The owner of _Matcha & Milk_.”

A sly grin grows on Mia’s face. “So it’s like that. Congratulations.”

The other people follow suit, showering him with their congratulations.

“It seems like love can really change a person,” someone says, shaking their head.

Someone else pats him on the shoulder. “You’ve changed, man.”

Oliver sips his coffee, smiling.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one: ...  
> Robin: Watching Oliver enjoy food is *chef's kiss*
> 
> *
> 
> Oliver: *pleading eyes emoji* *droopy puppy ears*  
> Robin: ...Alright, cuddle
> 
> *
> 
> Lark: Sorry Robin, Oliver's mine now.  
> Oliver: *dutiful minion*  
> Robin: *admits defeat*
> 
> *
> 
> There's just maybe two/three chapters (most of which is more FLUFF lolllllll) before the epilogue starts! More Lark in the epilogues!


	20. Chapter 20

## 49\. Matcha Tiramisu

On their now-regular date night, Robin closes the shop. Oliver is waiting outside, sunnies tucked away and a silly grin on his face, despite the horrid rain pouring down around them.

Robin’s lips curve up in response, He steps into the circle of Oliver’s umbrella, a little closer than usual. “What’s the happy occasion?”

Oliver tilts his head and rests it briefly on Robin’s shoulder, causing Robin’s heart to flutter.

“I’m just happy,” Oliver says. “Also, if we get wet, we’ll just have to take a shower together once we get back to my apartment.”

Robin tightens his grip on his overnight back, caught between embarrassment and want. He clears his throat, trying to recover his image. “So we’ll both smell like gingerbread?”

Oliver smirks. “No, you can’t use _my_ gingerbread shower gel. I need you to smell like _you_.” He tilts his head, nose close to Robin’s head.

“ _Oliver_ ,” Robin says.

Oliver laughs. “Come on, young man. So innocent.”

“I’m only a _few_ months younger,” Robin says. It’s dark, late at night. Robin’s heart skips a beat as he slips an arm around Oliver’s waist. This way, he won’t be as wet from the rain.

The people who see them don’t seem to care at all, and the nervous thump of Robin’s heart eases.

  


When they arrive at Oliver’s, Robin puts dessert into the fridge and is unable to resist Oliver pulling him into the bedroom. They won’t _actually_ have sex in the shower, because they’ve grown up with Melbourne water restrictions. Instead, they strip off wet clothes and have sex on the bed.

Oliver flops back with a languid grin when they’re done, eyes closing.

Normally, Robin would get something to wipe them down, but, “Didn’t you want to shower together?”

“Mmmmm. Don’t wanna get up.”

Robin can’t resist ruffling Oliver’s hair. “Don’t you want dessert?”

Oliver opens his eyes and licks his lips. “Haven’t I gotten dessert already?”

Robin purses his lips. He drags Oliver towards the edge of the bed, slips an arm under Oliver’s knees, the other under Oliver’s back, and lifts up.

Oliver yelps, quickly wrapping his arms around Robin’s neck. “Robin! What are you doing?!”

Robin grunts, adjusting Oliver in his arms, and painstaking walks towards the bathroom. “You’re heavy.”

“Thanks so much,” Oliver says, rolling his eyes. He starts to giggle, and then laughs. “I can’t believe you.”

Robin smirks. “Oh yeah?”

“I need a hero~” Oliver starts singing. “He’s gotta be strong~”

Robin chuckles. “Okay, you’re going down now,” he says regretfully, setting Oliver’s feet back on the ground.

“Boooo,” Oliver says. “Encore needed!” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “Now get into the shower, I’ll wash your cock carefully, don’t you worry.”

Robin rolls his eyes, even as his chest squirms.

  


After they shower and have dinner, Robin takes out dessert from the fridge and two spoons. When he heads over to the living room, Oliver’s sitting on the sofa innocently with a large box on his lap. It clearly says _Cheese Making Kit_ on the side.

“Since you love milk products,” Oliver says, grinning.

Robin shakes his head in exasperation. “Okay, let’s do it together later.”

Oliver nods and moves the box aside. The next location of his gaze is obvious.

Robin holds the single plate between them as he sits down on the sofa. “This is a matcha tiramisu. Instead of dipping ladyfingers in coffee, I dip them in matcha. And I thought you would like to share one with me.”

“Oh, you don’t think I would have preferred to share a plate of spaghetti with you?” Oliver teases. He takes a spoon and goes in for the first bite. His eyes curve in delight. “Hm, I love matcha. It’s so light and creamy.”

Robin takes his own spoonful of tiramisu. The matcha is grassy and fragrant, and the softened ladyfingers and airy cream dissolves in his mouth. It’s not overly sweet, and it doesn’t need it: not when Oliver’s being so sweet to him.

Oliver licks some stray cream off his lips, glancing up at Robin. “...What are you looking at?”

The corner of Robin’s lips quirk up. “My boyfriend.”

A hint of red spreads across Oliver’s cheeks. He tilts his chin up. “Well, of course.”

They’re both dressed in their pyjamas, legs tangled together. The sound of rain outside balances with the warmth inside. With a pinching feeling in his heart, Robin helplessly feeds Oliver a spoonful of dessert.

  


## 50\. Chocolate & Cheese Platter

Oliver would never have known all the specialty food shops around his area if it weren’t for Robin. The next morning, after spending the night together, he accompanies Robin, gladly carrying their purchases.

Along with buying all the milk they need to make the cheese according to the cheesemaking kit, Robin also buys a selection of pre-made cheese and hand-made chocolates, as well as various crackers.

And that’s how Oliver ends up at his mum’s home and handing her a large box.

“What is this?” she asks, curious. 

Over her shoulder, Oliver’s older brother Cameron is making a face. “Is there something you want from mum?” he says.

“Actually, it’s from my partner. He said you can pair different chocolate and cheeses together, so he prepared this. This way, it’s not a purely sweet dessert.”

Two sets of eyes widen at Oliver.

“Your partner,” his mum says slowly. “Well, this is nice of...him.”

Oliver smiles faintly, hiding the tenseness in his chest.

“We were going to have Cameron’s girlfriend next week, maybe your partner would like to come too.”

“I’ll ask him,” Oliver says. Inwardly, he’s gratified with how Cameron’s gaze keeps slipping down to the food. Robin knew a good gift for his family!

“Hm, Henry would like the chocolate part of it too,” his mum says. She closes the box and sets it on the kitchen counter. “We’ll have it after dinner,” she adds.

Cameron backs off. “Er, yes Mum,” he says. “Ollie, c’mon, let’s play some footy. Henry’s finished his exams, so he’ll be coming too.”

Oliver puts his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, sure.”

“As long as you all return in time for dinner!” his mum says.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cameron starts heading out first.

“And Oliver? Tell your boy thank you,” his mum adds.

A smile blooms on Oliver’s face. “Yes, Mum.”

  


## 51\. Rainbow Cake

One morning finds Robin carefully constructing a new cake. To make a reasonable seven-layer cake, Robin has to slice the layers thinly. Rounds of dark chocolate cake, standard chocolate cake, and caramel cake are divided into thirds. In between them, Robin spreads thick flavoured cream in the colours of the rainbow, along with thinly sliced fruit where appropriate—there is taro, blueberries, matcha, banana, persimmon and raspberries. He puts on a white-frosting crumb coating and leaves it in the fridge while he prepares other ingredients for the shop.

Closer to opening time, he returns again the seven different colours of frosting and chocolate shards to decorate the cake. 

He’s about to take some photos when his phone buzzes. Robin picks up, his lips curving.

“Hey, Oliver.”

“Robin,” comes Oliver’s warm voice. “I’m outside.”

Robin steps out of the back kitchen, brightening when he sees Oliver with his phone against his ear, sunnies dangling in his hand.

“You’re just on time,” he says as he lets Oliver in. “Come to the back.”

“Wait.”

Robin pauses.

Oliver leans forward and gives him a kiss. “Okay, now we can proceed.”

Fondness wells in Robin’s chest. He places a hand on Oliver’s back as they head into the back kitchen. “Hungry?”

“For you? Always?”

Robin rolls his eyes. “This is the new cake this week,” he says.

Oliver’s eyes light up. “Wow! that looks really good.”

“I just need to take a few pictures first…”

After Robin takes some photos, he pre-slices the cake and takes some more photos, showcasing the layers of colours inside. Oliver, of course, gets the first slice.

“Now I feel like I’m missing out,” Oliver says, and takes a photo too. “Can I post it?”

“Sure, as long as you say who made it,” Robin places his hand on Oliver’s back again. There’s something about touching Oliver, and feeling that he’s really right there next to him.

He snorts when he reads the caption on Oliver’s post.

Oliver gives him a puppy-dog look. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Robin acquiesces.

Oliver presses post, and puts his phone back in his pocket. He starts on the cake with enthusiasm. “Chocolate really goes with everything,” he says, cream and chocolate crumbs on his lips.

Robin brushes a thumb over Oliver’s mouth. “ _Everything_?”

Oliver’s eyes widen briefly, and then he smirks. “Am I corrupting you? Better get married soon then.”

Robin’s lips quirk. “I want a proper proposal, old man.”

Oliver pouts. “Why are you being like that? My mum wants to invite you to dinner on Sunday! Can you come?”

Robin tenses. His automatic response is _no_ , but this is _Oliver_. It’s just meeting his family, and he recalls that Oliver has a pretty good relationship with his mum...

Sundays evenings are not too busy, and he has already processed the application for another worker who will start by then. “Alright.”

“Great,” Oliver says. “Also, I was thinking I should give my mum a short course on cheesemaking. She really liked all the different cheeses.”

“I have some recommendations.”

“Send them over later,” Oliver holds up a forkful of cake towards Robin. “Now open up!”

Robin obediently accepts the offering, deep chocolate and fruity cream spreading across his tastebuds.

“I _would_ transfer the cake from your mouth to mine, but I think I like the cake better.”

Robin pouts, feeling very much like Oliver. He doesn’t know if it’s successful, but Oliver’s lips curve up as he offers Robin more cake.

*

_Meanwhile, on Oliver’s social media, is a photo of a slice of rainbow cake._

**Caption** : Rainbow cake made by my partner! Get it @matcha&milk today, or else I’ll just have to eat it all 🍰

 **coffee.love999** : First comment!

 **monica_addams** : OMG it looks so yummy!!

 **li_ya09_1** : WAIT. Partner??? @olivercampbell who is this?

> **viola_not_violin** : @olivercampbell 
> 
> **onlyonebed** : @olivercampbell whooo tell us 
> 
> **tea4life** : @li_ya09_1 I’ve been to @matcha&milk. Must be one of the people there 👀 
> 
> **onlyonebed** : OMG 

**onlyonebed** : So gayyyyyyy 👀

  


## 52\. Rabbit-Shaped Steamed Buns

In the large meeting-turned-work room, Oliver’s concentrating on typing on his laptop as others around him work equally quickly.

“Hey,” Mia says, as she walks over, hand on the table. “I’m going to buy lunch, do you want anything?”

Oliver looks up and shakes his head. “I have lunch already.”

“You, preparing lunch?” Mia says with exaggerated surprise.

Oliver grins. “Robin made it for me.”

At that, Mia rolls her eyes. “Of course. I saw your picture on social media. Very devious.”

“Devious? Who, me?”

Mia and a number of others leave to buy food. Eventually, everyone regathers in the meeting room with their lunches, while Oliver has easily taken out his from the office’s fridge and reheated it.

He lifts the lid and smugly shows Mia and his other colleagues the rabbit-shaped steamed buns inside.

“Omg, _cute_ ,” Mia says. “How is that fair?”

“Is your boyfriend as good as mine?” Oliver says proudly. He’s riding on a high, a burst of joy every time he tells someone else about Robin. He smirks at Mia. “Has your boyfriend ever packed lunch for you? I’ll give you one,” he adds generously.

Mia narrows her eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were trying to get to me.”

Oliver just smiles. There are two flavours of buns: one is savoury with a filling of minced meat and mushrooms, and the other is filled with custard. It’s almost a shame to bite into the soft pillowy buns with their little eyes and ears and tail, but the taste more than makes up for it. He pulls them apart to reveal their insides, and takes great pleasure in eating buns made especially for him. Even better, he knows just down the road, Robin has the same lunch.

*

That night, Oliver sends a certain picture of himself to Robin along with the words, **Thank you for lunch today ❤️**.

Robin immediately video calls back.

“What was that?” Robin says, as he puts his earphones in.

Oliver smiles back teasingly at his phone. “What is what?” he says, holding the phone a bit further back so that Robin can see more of him. “I just wanted to say thank you.” He rests a hand across his bare skin.

Robin clears his throat. “I don’t need a naked picture of you for something like that.”

Oliver chuckles. It’s hardly a naked picture—it only showed Oliver’s chest after all. But…He slowly pans his phone camera downwards towards his boxers, and slides his other hand over his bulge.

“Wank off together?”

“ _No!_ ” The background behind Robin changes as he moves...under the blankets? “You realise that I live with my parents, right?”

“Hmm.” Oliver teases himself, and he hopes the camera catches how he’s hardening under his boxers. “Just be quiet? I wish you were here.”

After a long moment, Robin has an expression of defeat. “I see. We should have another date night. Tomorrow.”

Oliver gives a pleased smile. “Done. But you know I _am_ going to wank after we end this call.”

“I know,” Robin’s tone has a hint of embarrassment.

“And I won’t judge you if you wank off to my photo,” Oliver adds.

“ _Oliver_ ,” Robin chides. “Why would I when I can have the real you?”

Oliver bursts into a smile. “Whisper sweet nothings to me, Robin.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Robin mumbles, just audible across the phone. 

—And that’s how Oliver scored a second weekly date night with Robin.

  


## 53\. Cherries

After their main weekend date night (because now Robin now has a mid-week date night with Oliver too!), Robin leaves Oliver’s place first and heads out to the shop. After hiring Damien, who is a barista like Jenny, Robin has hired a pastry chef, Chloe, who’s main job is to help prepare all the different desserts and cakes in the morning and early afternoon. This allows Robin to accept more dessert commissions.

When Oliver comes by in the afternoon, Robin makes sure Jenny has the spare keys to lock up, and then leaves with Oliver.

“...That’s a lot of stuff,” Oliver says, side-eying the bags in Robin’s hands. He takes one and his expression becomes even more surprised. “What’s in here?”

“Two kilos of oranges and a kilo of cherries,” Robin admits.

Oliver eyes the other bag.

“And I have cake and some more cheeses here,” Robin adds.

Oliver’s expression becomes soft. “You don’t need to bribe my mum.”

“This is hardly a bribe,” Robin protests. “If it were, I would have carried a crate of mangoes too!”

In fact, Robin has grown up with this kind of behaviour—when visiting others, it is very important to bring a gift, and fruit is a common choice.

When they exit the station in Oliver’s home suburb, Robin’s trying not to be nervous. Oliver spots a familiar car by the pick-up area and ushers Robin forward. Thankfully, he opens the back passenger door.

“Hey mum,” Oliver says, nudging Robin in. “Mum, this is Robin.”

Robin smiles politely. “Hello, Oliver’s mum.”

Oliver’s mum turns in the driver’s seat, her eyes assessing. “Robin, good to finally meet you. Call me Susan.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Robin says. He doesn’t dare call Oliver’s mum by her given name.

Oliver’s mum gives a weak smile and drives. It’s only when they arrive and get out of the car does she notice all the things they’re carrying.

“What’s all this?”

“They’re for you,” Robin says.

“No, this is too much,” Oliver’s mum says without looking.

“No, please, take it, I should have brought more,” Robin says.

“Yeah, he really means it,” Oliver adds.

Eventually, Robin’s able to convince Oliver’s mum to accept the food—she concedes when she sees the cheese. The cake goes into the fridge.

In the kitchen Robin meets Rebecca, the girlfriend of Oliver’s older brother. “I’m glad you brought cake,” she says, grinning as they shake hands.

“I hope you’ll enjoy it,” Robin says sincerely.

“We can make a club,” Oliver says. “The eat-desserts club. If Cameron doesn’t want to join then it’s all the more for us!”

Rebecca laughs. “If one of you were my boyfriend, then I would get to eat a lot more dessert, huh?”

“What’s this?” A tall, solidly built man stomps into the kitchen and wraps an arm around Rebecca’s waist. A younger man follows him.

“This is Cameron and Henry,” Oliver introduces.

“Robin, nice to meet you.” Robin shakes hands with Oliver’s brothers, not changing expression at Cameron’s macho grip.

Cameron appears to like to loom on purpose. “So. Robin,” he says, voice a touch of taunting. “Can you play footy? Or do you want to join my girlfriend and my mum in the kitchen?”

“You’re just saying that because you can’t cook,” Oliver quickly retorts. “How weakling.”

“Cut it,” Cameron says, annoyed. “Can you cook, Ollie?”

“Wait, I thought you could only make burnt pasta,” Henry says.

Robin’s lips quirk up, glancing at Oliver. Burnt pasta was exactly what they almost had on their first dinner together. 

“I made a full roast chicken with all the trimmings a while ago,” Oliver says proudly.

“Really?” his mum says, sounding a bit dubious.

“ _Really_ ,” Oliver insists. “I rather help you in the kitchen then be Cameron’s footy-ego-boost.”

“ _Oliver_ ,” his mum says.

“Actually, I don’t play footy,” Robin tells Cameron. “But my sister does. She’s really good. She plays in the local casual league, and her full time job is literally teaching kids and adults how to play. She says it’s like having the best part of footy, getting to play for fun everyday. She also helps teach and support disadvantaged kids and even attends conferences _about_ sport. By the way, what do you do, Cameron?”

Cameron’s expression sours.

Robin inwardly smirks. No one can beat Lark, and certainly not Cameron.

Henry bursts out laughing, nudging Cameron in the ribs. “Heh, what was that, Cammie?” 

“Car repairs,” Cameron minces out. “And neither of you have a car, huh?”

“Actually, I do have a car,” Robin says. “It’s currently parked at my local station.”

Henry slaps Robin on the shoulder. “Mate, welcome,” he says warmly. “Anyone cooler than Cameron is a brother of mine.”

“Does that make Rebecca your brother too?” Oliver says.

Amongst all the grins, Rebecca (who is also smiling) pats Cameron soothingly. “It’s alright, Cameron. It’s the weekend, why don’t you call the boys and play a game down at the park? By the time you come back, we’ll have dinner ready.”

“I was going to do that yesterday, just thought it’ll be polite to invite Oliver’s boyfriend,” Cameron says. “Clearly your answer is no, so I’ll be off.”

“Don’t forget your sunscreen,” his mum says.

“I know.” Cameron stalks off.

“I’m sorry about Cameron,” Oliver’s mum starts.

Robin smiles apologetically. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about my sister.”

“Nonsense,” Rebecca says. “Your sister sounds lovely.”

“Should we start making dinner now?” Robin asks.

“No, no,” Oliver’s mum says. “The chicken is already marinating, and popping it into the oven is easy. Why don’t you wash some fruit and play some games?”

“Sounds good,” Henry says enthusiastically.

*

Oliver watches as Henry leads Robin and Rebecca away to play video games. Oliver lingers in the kitchen, dutifully washing some cherries and delaying getting totally defeated.

“Well, he seems like a nice boy,” his mum says. “Did he grow up here?”

“Yeah, well not in _this_ suburb.”

“And you treat him well?”

“Of course.”

His mum hums, but makes no further comments.

By the time Oliver heads into the living room, Henry, Robin and Rebecca have started playing, vibrant colours and characters moving across the TV screen.

“Just watch and wait til this round finishes,” Henry says without any remorse.

Oliver rolls his eyes and sits down next to Robin. “Cherries?” He holds one up to Robin’s lips.

Robin’s eyes dart quickly from the TV screen to him. “Thanks.” He accepts the cherry. Oliver holds up the spare bowl for the cherry pit, and repeats.

The cherries are not tart, they’re ripe and sweet but with a slightly firm bite that isn’t mushy. Oliver licks his lips. Robin’s lips are stained red. He _would_ lean over to kiss, but then he’ll block his boyfriend’s view of the game.

“Hey, why aren’t you feeding _me_ cherries?” Henry complains. “Me and Rebecca are like your siblings too!”

“Fine, fine,” Oliver says. He leans over and feeds them too, amused by Henry’s shamelessness, and Rebecca plays along.

“This is the life,” she says. “Gaming and having a handsome guy feed you cherries. How about I recline while you look for some grapes? Sorry Robin, but Oliver wouldn’t mind, right?”

Robin smiles, pressing his shoulder against Oliver’s. “That’s alright.”

Oliver pouts. “Robin! Treading on thin ice!”

“Ah, as long as I get Oliver back at night,” Robin says.

Henry groans while Rebecca laughs. But at least Oliver gets a kiss from Robin, which makes it alright in the end.

And when Oliver glances to the door, he catches his mum watching with the slightest exasperated smile on her face.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the adventures of Robin bribing Oliver's family! Bringing fruit when visiting other people is very asian in my opinion haha. And like....fluff? The little chapters feel a bit disjoint ahhhh, they basically feel like epilogue scenes already....😅😅
> 
> It's weird how I had this social-media scene in mind for so long hahaha. Imagine there are many more comments under Oliver's post~


	21. Chapter 21

## 54\. Robin’s parents

After dinner at Oliver’s place, Robin goes home. He’s back earlier than usual, so his parents are still up watching TV.

“You’re back. What about your shop?” his mum immediately interrogates. “It’s not been a year yet! Are you neglecting it already?”

“One of my workers is watching the shop,” Robin says calmly. “I visited the family of my boyfriend.”

His father’s face immediately darkens. “So the rumours are true!”

“This is getting out of hand,” his mother follows up. “You’re not home so many nights!”

“...It’s only twice a week,” Robin says, pushing down his annoyance.

“One night, two nights, three nights, all nights! How improper of you!”

“Do you know how often I have to deny those rumours?” his father says. “And now you’re telling me they are true! You give me no face!”

Robin snorts. “Who is the one ignoring the truth and painting lies?”

“You’re crazy.” his father snaps.

“What will people _think_ , they’ll think you’re stupid...” his mother says.

Maybe she says it because she cares. But it’s not the kind of “care” that Robin wants.

Robin straightens, crossing his arms. He’s sick of being filial and meek, of not rocking the boat. If his parents won’t gracefully accept all the hints, then they'll have to swallow his direct words.

“Mum. Dad. I’m very happy with my boyfriend. And you know what? All the people I’ve met have been fine about me being gay. You, mum and dad, are the people who have hurt me the most. At this rate, maybe I should leave home and never come back. This way, you can have some of your reputation as being homophobic back, right?”

His parents’ faces are a mixture between stunned and _how-dare-you-speak-back_.

“I’m not a teenager,” Robin says. “This is not a phase. I won’t _grow out_ of this. Maybe you want to protect me, to stop other people thinking bad things about me. But I don’t care about them. The people who have been thinking negative things about me are my own mum and dad.”

“So old and being so disobedient,” his father retorts.

“I studied hard, just like you said. I went to uni. I opened my own business. I’ve even hired more people because it’s going well! If you think the world isn’t good for gay people, then maybe you should help make the world better! Maybe I’ll be more filial if my parents cared about me more than other random people!”

Robin exhales harshly, and softens his voice. “My boyfriend’s name is Oliver Campbell. He’s a famous songwriter in Melbourne. I’m very happy with my boyfriend. I like him very much. Today, I met with the family of my boyfriend. One day, I hope my boyfriend will be able to meet my mum and dad, because my mum and dad are very important people to me, and I want your approval. But if you don’t want me...Then tell me how much I need to pay you back and I will leave.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” his mother says. “You’re our son.” She glares at Robin’s father. “You’re not allowed to chase him out!”

“I didn’t say it,” his father mutters.

“Please think about it. If you really need it, I can print out correct information about gay people,” Robin says. “I’m tired, so I’m going to bed.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything before bed?” his mother asks.

“No, I’m not hungry,” Robin says. He leaves them, heading to his bedroom.

In the quiet of his bedroom, his heart is still racing. He _said all that_ to his parents! The burden of those words lift from Robin’s shoulders. He’s dreading the tense atmosphere between him and his parents in the future.

His phone buzzes with a message.

**Oliver Campbell: [link] Friend sent me these baking hacks, but are they real?? 🤔🤔🤔?**

**Oliver Campbell: Also, my mum let me have most of the remaining cake lol**

Robin’s heart eases. Here is the person who has given Robin enough confidence to come out. He smiles fondly at Oliver’s words, and starts texting back.

  


## 55\. Robin’s parents, part 2

Not long after, Robin starts posting pictures of himself and Oliver on Facebook, where multiple family and friends follow him, including his parents.

It takes a few weeks of his parents giving him looks and avoiding the topic before they say anything.

His father makes the first comment, having stayed up late in the kitchen when Robin returns from work one day.

“Your boyfriend has won awards,” his father says awkwardly. “That’s very good. None of my friends’ children have a boyfriend or girlfriend who is that famous.”

“Yes, dad,” Robin says. “My boyfriend has written a lot of popular songs, and his name is in the production team on a lot of Australian music.”

“Good.” His father nods decisively. “Are you hungry? Your mum made beef stew and mapo tofu. Should I heat it up for you?”

“That’s fine, dad. I’ll microwave it.”

“Right. Well. I’m going to bed.”

Meanwhile, his mother catches him in the morning as she presides over breakfast.

“Remember, I won’t have dinner tonight at home,” Robin reminds her.

Previously, she would make a face, nod and quickly move on, but today, she says, “...To see your boyfriend, correct?”

“Yes, he has an apartment in the city.”

“Is he very busy?”

“Sometimes busy, sometimes not so much.”

“Is he handsome? Rich?”

Robin smiles. “He’s handsome, and definitely not poor.”

“Are you the boy or the girl in the relationship?”

Robin’s smile grows a little colder. “Mum, we are both men. There is no girl in the relationship.”

His mum gets flustered. “You know, the person who acts as the woman—”

“Mum. I don’t want to hear about how you and dad made me and Lark. So I won’t tell you what Oliver and I do.”

“Then who’s taller?”

“We’re about the same height. If you really want to see, you’ll need to meet him.”

“Of course, of course. How is the food?”

Robin accepts her change of topic.

His parents will never say something explicit as “ _we will support you_ ” or “ _we do not mind that you are gay_.” It’s not in their culture.

They had known inexplicitly that he was gay before he _actually_ told them. The fact they have voluntarily talked about his boyfriend means that they’re on the road to acceptance, even if that acceptance is currently somewhat conditional on how successful Oliver is.

Nevertheless, it’s an acknowledgment about an important part of who Robin is. Robin finally feels _seen_. Tension that he has carried in his heart for so long is finally easing.

And maybe, one day in the future, he might bring Oliver to meet his parents, and it will be good.

  


## 56\. Cream Puffs

Oliver leans against his kitchen counter, watching Robin pipe cream into the freshly made cream puffs, and setting them back on the wire racks they had recently bought together along with an assortment of other kitchenware. Like the crepe pans. Oliver’s very fond of the crepe pans.

Robin’s focused expression tickles Oliver’s chest. Not to mention he’s wearing the apron Oliver gifted him.

Unable to resist, Oliver saunters forward, wrapping a hand around Robin’s waist. “Seeing you pipe _cream_ into those _holes_. Such great command,” he says, voice lowering.

Robin gives him an exasperated look. “Cream puffs should be eaten immediately,” he says, pressing the one he’s just finished into Oliver’s mouth.

Oliver bites down on the pastry, letting the vanilla cream escape to his lips. “Hmm, _delicious_.” He swipes a finger across the cream on his lips and puts the finger in Robin’s mouth.

Robin’s eyes darken. “Looking for trouble, Mr. Campbell?” he says, the corner of his mouth going up.

Oliver blinks innocently. “I don’t need to go _looking_ for it.” He tugs the pastry cream bag off of Robin, placing it on the table, and pulls Robin toward him. He tilts his head down, tracing the words on Robin’s apron—feeling up Robin’s chest. “See, your apron says to kiss the cook, so…” He looks up through his lashes.

“Then shouldn’t I be the one kissing you for making dinner?” Robin’s tone is nonchalant, but his eyes are focused on Oliver, glancing down to his lips.

Oliver hums affirmatively. He feints a kiss on Robin’s mouth, and then quickly pulls away. Inwardly, he thrills at how Robin attempts to follow him. “But I want _cream_.”

“What is this, a romance novel?” Robin says in exasperation.

“Eh, let’s fuck then,” Oliver says, wrapping his arms around Robin and lifting him up.

Robin laughs in surprise. “Oliver!” He hugs Oliver’s shoulders.

Oliver strains with effort—after all, they’ve only recently started working out together, and Robin’s been at it for longer. Oliver has to give up by the time they reach the living room.

Oliver sighs heavily. “Let’s just do it on the sofa—” His heart jumps when Robin sweeps him up into _his_ arms.

“ _Bed_ , we’re not making a mess on a sofa that other people sit on,” Robin says chidingly. He carries Oliver into the bedroom and lowers him onto the bed. Oliver wraps his legs around Robin, forcing him down on the bed with him.

“No escape, Robin,” Oliver grins. He rolls over, pushing Robin down. He captures Robin’s lips, familiar and lovely, as his hands push down Robin’s trousers.

Robin’s cock is swelling, warming in his hands. Oliver grabs a condom from the bedside and smoothly rolls it on. His mouth moistens as he shifts down the bed.

Oliver pumps Robin’s cock. “You know, there’s no reason why we need to be dressed in my apartment. As long as we lock the doors and close the curtains…”

“Do you _really_ want to have sex so often?” Robin says, his voice and face exceedingly calm in contrast to how his cock is growing in Oliver’s hands.

Oliver smiles innocently. “When there’s such a handsome man in the house, how can I resist?” He catches Robin’s flush and with satisfaction, puts Robin’s cock in his mouth.

The weight of Robin’s cock sends a shiver of pleasure down Oliver’s stomach. One hand at the base of Robin’s cock, other hand pulling his own cock out. Oliver sucks earnestly and skillfully, drawing out Robin’s groans.

“Ollie. Ollie,” Robin’s mumbling. His gaze is focused entirely on Oliver. His hand threads through Oliver's hair, sending tingles of sensation across Oliver’s scalp. “ _You’re_ the handsome one.”

Oliver’s eyes curve in happiness. He swallows down, moaning down Robin’s hot length. Robin’s fingers tightens in his hair, his hips thrusting. Oliver swallows again, letting Robin fuck his throat. He pumps his own cock, knowing how good Robin feels makes him feel really, really good too. 

Every time he sucks, Robin’s body tenses.

“Your mouth is so good, Ollie.”

“ _You_ ’re so good…”

Robin’s hips move faster as his control unravels. Oliver presses down, swallowing Robin’s cock to the root.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Robin groans. “Oliver…!”

Robin’s cock pulses in his mouth, his breath descending to harsh pants. Oliver gives one more suck and leans up, giving Robin a smirk. “Good?”

“Ollie, come here,” Robin says. He half drags Oliver up, not that he’s resisting. Robin kisses him, swallowing Oliver’s breath, sending Oliver’s lips buzzing. His hands roam Oliver’s chest and tug Oliver’s cock.

Oliver’s orgasm comes slowly, soft lightning and warm pleasure as Robin’s hand twists just right. Come splatters over Robin’s clothes, and Oliver spares a moment of chagrin as he collapses down by Robin’s side. He buries his face in Robin’s hair.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He squirms a little when Robin wraps an arm in embrace.

“I know,” Robin says fondly. He tilts his head and lands a kiss on Oliver’s cheek.

“Say, Robin, my dear boyfriend, can you feed me those cream puffs in bed?”

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “Hm. Okay. But _I_ need to get cleaned up first.”

“Alright, alright,” Oliver says benevolently. He pulls off Robin’s condom and lets Robin dispose of it, lazing as Robin goes over to the wardrobe and pulls out his _sleepwear_ and a towel.

Oliver’s eyes light up. “Changed my mind,” he says, standing up. “I want to get cleaned up too.”

“You’ve become more and more unrestrained lately,” Robin comments.

“And you’ve been smiling more and more,” Oliver counters. “Wouldn’t this affect your evil image? Maybe we should do a bit of roleplay to get you back into it.”

Robin throws the towel at his face.

Oliver grins. “Thanks, darling,” he says exaggeratedly. He pulls out his own matching set of pyjamas and follows Robin into the bathroom.

  


Half an hour later, both of them clean, Oliver reclines on the sofa and allows Robin to feed him the delicate cream puffs, because his boyfriend dotes on him very, very much.

“There should be a boyfriend of the year award,” Oliver says. Soft pastry and sweet cream—vanilla and matcha and chocolate. Each cream puff is delicate, and he eats them in two bites—so that he can mischievously lick Robin’s fingers more often.

“ _Oliver_ ,” Robin chides, exasperation heavy in his voice.

Oliver nudges Robin’s hand back, pushing the next cream puff towards Robin’s mouth. “Or, I can make my own. Henry wants to invite you to his birthday,” Oliver remembers. “It’s months away, I guess he’s saying you can’t break up with me before it.”

Robin yawns. “Alright, Mr. Campbell.”

Oliver reflexively yawns too. “When is Lark’s birthday?”

“I’ll remind you when it comes, but it’s already past this year. We usually have her birthday at home too...no matter what, I’ll invite you.”

Oliver smiles softly. “Your parents?”

“They’re coming round to the truth,” Robin says, with a wry smile. He tugs Oliver up. “Come on, bed time. I think we had too much excitement today.”

“Wait! I haven’t sung you my nightly song yet.” Oliver’s eyes dart to his guitar, but Robin’s arm around his waist stops him.

“Maybe you should sing it as a lullaby.”

Oliver turns in Robin’s arms, and hugs him. “Okay!”

  


## 57\. Matcha Avocado Bubble Tea

It’s late at night by the time Oliver leaves work. It’s spring now: the nights are still chilly, but at least it’s not raining as often.

While there are still people walking down the street, the shop _Matcha & Milk_ is empty but for the very adorable barista behind the counter. Oliver glances over the new seasonal promotions, especially the seasonal fruits.

The barista—Robin—looks up, spotting him through the glass front. Oliver holds back a pout, unable to surprise his boyfriend.

The inside of the shop is warm and sweet. 

“How may I help you?” Robin’s eyes crinkle, the corner of his lips smirking.

“Hmmm.” Oliver leans over the counter and pulls off his sunnies. He looks directly into Robin’s eyes. “I want a standard size matcha avocado bubble tea, no ice, half sugar, with added brown sugar mini tapioca pearls and diced strawberries.”

“That’ll be zero dollars,” Robin says.

Oliver pouts.

Robin’s smile broadens. “How about the cost of one kiss.”

“Oh, alright,” Oliver faux-grumbles. He leans over the counter and meets Robin’s lips.

“No need for a receipt,” Oliver adds.

Robin snorts, and turns around to make the drink, moving this and that, building up the layers and colours of the bubble tea.

Oliver relaxes, tilting his head with fondness. In the quiet, the sound of the radio picks up.

“...And now for the new hit single released today by Melbourne artist XXX, it’s a sweet love song that does not discriminate on gender—” comes the voice on the local radio.

“... _Can we stay together forever? Can we kiss each morning hello? ..._ ”

Oliver flushes as the song starts playing. It’s odd hearing someone else sing it while in Robin’s presence: the produced song sounds different from the acoustic version Oliver sings to Robin. He’s even more embarrassed when Robin turns and looks at him, smiling.

“I realised…” Oliver swallows. “That I haven’t said the L-word to you yet.”

“Lollipop?” Robin’s eyes are bright, lips with hint of a smirk. He places the completed drink in front of Oliver. “You don’t need to say it, you literally wrote a love song for me.”

Oliver buries his face in his hands. “I did that, didn’t I?”

“Yep.”

“Uggghhhh…” He’s so fucking embarrassed!! Thank goodness there’s no one else around. Except Mia probably knows exactly who Oliver had in mind when he wrote the song...

“Oliver.” Robin’s voice is soft, and Oliver grudgingly looks up. “I. Love. You. You and your silly sunglasses brighten all of my days. Now please, drink. You’ve become a dessert connoisseur, and I highly regard your opinions.”

A shy smile grows on Oliver’s face. “Yeah?” He picks up the cup and slides in a big straw. Right now, the drink has three different colours: the brown boba at the bottom, the pale green of the matcha and avocado, and the red-pink of the strawberries. It smells sweet and delicate. After a quick mix, Oliver takes a sip.

The grassy, familiar flavour of matcha comes first, paired with the smooth creaminess of the avocado. The mini tapioca pearls add a burst of sweetness and texture and chewiness, and the brightness of the strawberries stops the drink from being overly fatty and sweet and instead makes it extremely moorish.

Oliver hums in enjoyment. “It’s good. Of course it’s good.” He holds it over for Robin to take a sip too, sharing the same straw.

"Hmm." Robin smiles. “It’s so adorable to watch you,” he teases. “I could stand here all day.”

Oliver blurts out, “Then why don’t you move in with me? I mean, only if you want to, I’m not saying you _have_ to, but it’s easier for you to commute from my place, right? And then we can sleep together every night—”

Robin laughs, a happy sound that sends Oliver’s mood flying.

“Of course, I accept.”

Oliver leans over the counter, drags Robin closer, and kisses him soundly.

  


  


## The End!!

[and now onto some epilogue scenes!]

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have projected onto Robin a bit.....
> 
> They've both come such a long way!!! Thank you for everyone for reading all the way to here~!!! ❤️
> 
> While this is end of the main story, I have some epilogue scenes after various time jumps coming up next, so we'll see a bit more of Robin and Oliver~ (but also some other characters. Like Lark. Lots of Lark haha)
> 
> *cough* So will be back in two weeks (the 26th) for the epilogue scenes which I haven't finished writing 😅😅😅


	22. Epilogues: Part 1

## Epilogue 1: Morning Pancakes

 _The morning after Robin moves in_.

Oliver wakes up slowly, with the best feeling of relaxed muscles are strenuous exercise. He’s rather pleased with himself, having last night successfully convinced Robin to christen every room. But now is time for lazy sleeping.

He senses movement next to him, and lazily drops an arm on top of Robin. “Sleep more,” he mumbles.

“I’m hungry,” Robin whispers back. He shifts in the bed. Oliver tilts his head up, eyes still closed, as Robin kisses his forehead. “I’ll cook something.”

Oliver hums. The bed dips and springs back as Robin leaves. Oliver rolls around in the bed into the space Robin’s vacated, breathing in Robin’s scent. There’s light clattering in the kitchen, and eventually, the hiss of a frying pan and the scent of sweet cooked food fills the air.

Oliver yawns and forces himself up. He throws on a shirt and shorts and pads into the kitchen. Robin has three nonstick pans on the hob, cooking a stack of pancakes.

Robin turns. “Morning.”

“Hm, morning.” Oliver wraps his arms around Robin and rests his head.

Robin snorts. “Still asleep?”

“I’m tired after last night,” Oliver complains.

There is absolutely no pity in Robin’s voice as he says, “And whose fault is that, huh?”

“Bah. I’ll make tea then.”

By the time Oliver’s finished brewing the loose leaf tea, Robin’s two stacks of pancakes are done. They bring the items to the table, along with a bottle of maple syrup and a block of butter, an assortment of cut fruit, and a tub of clotted cream ice cream.

Oliver copies Robin in eating each pancake separately: that way, each one can be topped with something different. The pancake itself is not very sweet, but it’s fluffy and has a satisfying texture, and in short is the perfect vehicle to deliver a lot of maple syrup and ice cream into Oliver’s mouth. The light green tea accompanying refreshes Oliver’s mouth for the next parcel of sugar.

“Next time, I’ll make pancakes,” Oliver says. “We can have it with bacon and eggs. Maybe cheese, because you love cheese.”

Robin huffs. “Yes, dear.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

And so, the first morning of them officially living together passes. They will have many similar mornings in the future ahead.

  


## Epilogue 2: Grocery shopping

While Oliver is fine going to the local supermarket, he quickly understands that a lot of ingredients cannot be found there. Soon after they start living together, Robin takes Oliver out to one of Melbourne’s largest food markets early Sunday morning (inside of sleeping in like Oliver wants to do).

Oliver’s eyes grow wide at all the different small grocery and food stalls. Some of the price signs are handwritten on cardboard, and virtually nothing is pre-packaged in plastic, instead with everything sold by weight or by number.

And despite how early they’ve come, the market is bustling. Oliver sticks close to Robin, lest he gets lost.

“If there’s _anything_ you want, tell me,” Robin says.

Oliver shakes his head. “But like, how do you know how to pick what? Look, both of these stalls are selling the exact same apples...right?”

“They might be the same, actually,” Robin admits. “Think about what you would willingly serve your mum.”

Unable to really help, Oliver quickly takes on the task of carrying all the produce Robin buys: seasonal fruit and vegetables like asparagus, leeks, and oranges.

There is _one_ place his eyes linger.

“Morning snack then,” Robin says when he notices. He goes up to the doughnut stand and buys two jam doughnuts, placed in a single brown paper bag.

“Since I’m carrying all the bags, you need to feed me,” Oliver says promptly.

“Here comes the aeroplane,” Robin teases. He holds up the doughnut, the sweet, slightly oily smell filling his senses.

Oliver takes a bite. The doughnut is soft and fluffy. Sugar coats the outside, and sweet, warm jam oozes from the inside. Oliver licks his lips, catching strawberry jam and sugar whilst Robin takes a bite.

They continue like this, Oliver being absolutely shameless.

With the bolstering of the doughnuts, Oliver’s ready to follow Robin to all the other areas of the market...

“Robin! I didn’t know there’s so many different types of honey!”

(The shop owner smiles and offers them to have a try of a couple, and Oliver quickly agrees. Oliver finally settles on buying a jar of blossom honey, but he’s definitely going to come back)

“Robin! That pork belly hasn’t been pre-sliced. This means we can make crispy pork belly, right?”

(“Yes, that’s true,” Robin replies indulgently, and buys some.)

“Robin! Look at all these sweet potatoes! You can make bubble tea out of sweet potatoes that aren’t taro, right?”

(“We can,” Robin affirms, and buys a few of each type, which later in the week they will steam and eat.)

After the shopping trip, laden with bags, Oliver has agreed to come back again next week.

  


## Epilogue 3: Ube Waffle

Oliver never could have imagined that Robin’s sister would start a group chat with him, Robin and herself.

**Lark Quan: Hey Oliver! I’m going to be in the city tomorrow morning. Do you and Robin want to grab brunch with me? I was thinking of this place [link]**

**Oliver Campbell: Sure, Robin says yes too.**

The morning of their brunch, Robin leaves first to prepare for the shop opening along with his pastry chef, Chloe. In the late morning, Oliver heads to the shop, greets Chloe, and tugs Robin out.

“You forgot your sunglasses,” Oliver says, hooking Robin’s pair on his shirt.

“I’m not nearly as famous as you,” Robin says, smiling.

“Hey, morning!”

They both turn to see Lark striding down the street, carrying a filled plastic bag. She stuffs the bag at Robin. “Go put this in the fridge,” she orders, “Mum was worried you’re not eating right, so she made extra.”

“Yes, mum-number-two,” Robin says, rolling his eyes. He quickly heads inside and returns again, empty handed. “Now lead the way.”

Oliver ends up walking alongside Lark, who asks him questions about the kinds of instruments he can play.

“I suppose you can play the piano too?” he asks her.

She grins, glancing slyly at Robin. “Compared to Robin, yes.”

Robin just rolls his eyes in response.

Lark shows them to a waffle cafe, and orders three plates: ube waffles, strawberry waffles and chocolate waffles, and has the waiter bring out three extra plates. Under Lark’s command, the waffles are divided into three. Oliver can now totally understand Robin’s food-sharing behaviour.

Oliver’s most curious about the ube waffle. It’s a purple sweet potato waffle, and it’s topped with white chocolate sauce, vanilla-ube-swirl ice cream and purple, white, and yellow taro balls. The outer waffle is crisp, and the inside soft and a bit chewy. The taste of ube is sweeter than taro, with a much richer purple colour. He shifts to the strawberry-topped waffle for a touch of brightness, and to the chocolate-covered waffle for that sweet, slightly roasted taste.

“Ah! I forgot to take a picture of the food,” Lark laments, staring at the divided, half-eaten waffles between them. In the end, she takes a group picture instead and sends it to the group chat.

“You know what’s worse about Robin moving out?” she asks. “That I don’t get free dessert anymore.”

“Let me pay,” Oliver says.

Lark shoots his offer down, and shoots down Robin’s offer to split the bill too.

Once they step outside, Oliver slips his sunglasses on again, and makes Robin put his on too.

“I don’t need it,” Robin says.

“But now we’re _matching_ ,” Oliver says.

He turns to Lark, only to find her having taken a photo of them. She smiles knowingly, and a moment later, a number of photos pings in the group chat on Oliver’s phone.

And when Oliver sees the photos, he can’t help but look at the expression on their faces. He’d never realised just how he looks at Robin, nor how Robin looks at him. Oliver reaches out and holds Robin’s hands.

“You look cute,” he tells him.

Robin’s lips press together as he glances between Oliver and Lark.

“You do, little brother,” Lark immediately agrees.

“That’s because you’re both obligated to say that,” Robin says.

“ _Robin_ ,” Oliver says affectionately.

Lark looks between them, a sly smile at the corner of her lips. “When should I expect the wedding invitation?”

Oliver blushes. “As Robin’s sister, you are truly evil.”

Lark laughs. “Very good, minion of mine!”

  


## Epilogue 4: Lark and Mia

Lark meets Mia during a dinner-party event at Oliver and Robin’s. They immediately hit off as they jointly tease how domestic Oliver and Robin have become.

“Look at them holding hands under the table!”

“We’ll leave early, don’t you worry!”

And then after, they start whispering to each other.

“Oliver’s written love songs for Robin. You should see his expression!”

“Robin started working out for Oliver!”

“Oliver learned to cook for Robin!”

“Robin started developing a lot of desserts to cater to Oliver’s taste!”

They look at each other, and Lark immediately says, “Let’s be friends,” and Mia, no-nonsense as she is, agrees. 

They decide to meet up together for coffee on a weekend.

On that warm, sunny day, they end up strolling through one of Melbourne’s parks.

“Is it easy to volunteer like that?” Mia is asking after Lark mentions her weekend teaching and supervising disadvantaged kids to play sport.

Lark nods. “It’s not too hard. There’s the working with children check, and a short training session. The hardest thing is getting the equipment, really. You have to pay out of pocket sometimes, but if you don’t, it’s not fair to the kids at all.” Lark sighs. “Sure, some of them are rowdy, but they’re good kids, ultimately.”

Mia nods. “I could get my company to donate some money to teach kids music. Donations are tax-deductible, after all.”

Lark smirks. “You said you have a boyfriend? When are you going to get married for tax purposes?”

Mia laughs. “But consider the cost of a socially-acceptable wedding. How many years would it take to recuperate that?”

Lark nods seriously. “You must calculate and do some serious forecasting. Unfortunately, there’s a reason I’m not an accountant. Maybe I can get my brother to help you.”

“Maybe if my boyfriend sees how lovey-dovey Oliver and Robin are, he might get some inspiration. A little hint that Oliver’s trying to seduce me with food…”

They soon move back to the volunteer work. Right there and then, Lark sends the details of the organisation she volunteers for to Mia.

“But it’s in my local council area, so you might want to take a look at what’s being set up at other areas, or ask this organisation whether they have plans to extend out.”

Mia nods. “It might be fun to have the kids come to the company on the weekend, there’s not as many people around, and it would be a good experience. We have some old equipment that’s perfectly serviceable at their level.”

“You don’t _have_ to do something related to your profession,” Lark adds. “But I’ll definitely help you get this up and running.”

Mia smiles, eyes sparkling with excitement. “And I’ll drag my boyfriend too, he has way too much free time. Say, I noticed the image on your phone lockscreen…”

Lark raises an eyebrow. “You recognise it?” It’s a stylised picture from a fairly obscure series of books.

“Oh, I _do_.”

Lark smirks. “Wouldn’t it be funny if we knew each other’s online personas?”

They look at each other, and say their online usernames.

“I’ve seen your artwork!” Lark realises.

“And I’ve seen your writing!” Mia returns.

They both nod simultaneously. “Our friendship is meant to be!”

* 

Later, when Lark meets up with Robin, Robin asks her how it went.

“How do you feel about teaching a group of kids how to bake a cake?” she says instead.

Robin blinks. “Depending on the time, I suppose…” His eyes narrow. “You’re planning something.”

Lark pats her innocently little brother on the back. “Don’t worry, leave it to me.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fluff, lol.
> 
> I just imagine that Lark and Mia could do really great things together. OR be simultaneously smirking whenever they meet Robin and Oliver haha


	23. Epilogues: Part 2

## Epilogue 5: Dinner with Robin’s parents

After Robin moves in with Oliver, he still tries to visit his parents as much as his schedule allows, and one day, just before he leaves, his mother abruptly says, “Invite your friend over for dinner next time.”

Robin pauses. “My boyfriend?”

“Yes, yes, your _boy_ friend,” his mother says. “We’ll cook good food. Tell him to come.”

“Yes, mum,” Robin agrees dutifully. Behind his mum, Lark is lurking. She gives him a thumbs up.

So, next Monday evening, Robin and Oliver come down to his parents place, and Lark picks them up from the station.

The door of the house is open as their car pulls into the driveway.

“Welcome, welcome, hello,” Robin’s father immediately says, exaggerating an Australian accent. Robin tries not to wince.

“You must be Oliver,” his mum says.

“Good evening,” Oliver says politely, bowing his head. “This is for you.” He holds out the crate of mangos he and Robin had bought at the market yesterday.

Robin’s mother does a quick bow too. “Good, good, what a good boy,” she says, her eyes darting to Robin. She nudges to her husband to take the mangos. “Come in, no need to take your shoes off! Robin, show Oliver around! Dinner is almost ready!”

Robin takes his shoes off, and Oliver follows suit. He grabs an extra pair of slippers for him.

“Your parents seem enthusiastic,” Oliver mumbles. “It’s a bit scary.”

Lark pats him on the back before Robin can.

“Worry not, Oliver. No harm will come to my minions.”

Oliver cracks a grin. “Thanks. I’m looking forward to seeing your bedrooms and baby photos.”

“You just need to ask me,” Lark whispers loudly. “I’ll supply the goods.”

Robin gives his sister a look of betrayal. “ _Lark_ ,” he whines.

If anything, Oliver’s grin grows wider.

Lark leads the way in showing him the house, from the living room, their bedrooms, and Lark’s gym room. And she points out Robin in all his school photos.

“So serious,” Oliver says.

“He was an angsty kid, you wouldn’t know it,” Lark says.

“I was _not_ ,” Robin says. “Lark was such a doting older sister, how could I be?”

“Awwww,” Lark rubs his hair. “Come on, I think I hear our mum calling for dinner.” She turns to Oliver. “A tip. Say that you’re full before you actually are, because guaranteed our mum will feed you more.”

Oliver nods seriously, but a knowing smile grows on his face. “Actually, I’m the same. Nothing beats the joy of making sure your loved ones are fed and full, right? It’s a grandmother thing.”

“...Domestic,” Lark realises. “Come on.”

They sit around the dining table, and somehow, Oliver ends up sitting next to Robin on one side, and Robin’s mum on the other. The spread on the table is excessive—his mum has really gone all out on all the dishes.

“Ah, you can use chopsticks, Oliver? Very good,” his mum praises. “Let me scoop some rice for you.”

She scoops a big serving of rice. “Oliver, try this,” she says next, pointing to a dish of grilled meat. “Eat with this, pour some of this sauce…”

“Yes ma’am,” Oliver says meekly.

“Is it good?”

“Very good,” Oliver says obediently. “The meat is very flavourful.” 

Robin’s mum still doesn’t look satisfied though, and ends up directing him to try some more foods.

“Here, Robin, you also try this,” Oliver says, moving a piece of stewed egg to Robin’s bowl.

“Thanks,” Robin says, uncomfortably aware that both his parents are now looking at him.

Eventually, Oliver gives up. “I’m full now, no more please!”

“But you’re a growing boy,” Robin’s mum attempts to cajole.

“...”

“Mum, what about dessert?” Lark says.

“Oh! Dessert!” His mum tells his dad to clear some of the eaten dishes and take out dessert instead, which consists of fried sesame balls, and steamed layer cake. She also slices up some mango for them right there and then.

Now onto the dessert stage, his parents seem to relax, and Robin’s dad starts asking questions about Oliver’s work.

There are no inappropriate questions, thankfully. And though it’s not exactly _normal_ for his parents to dote on a new person so much, Robin can appreciate that they’re trying.

“It’s getting late,” his mum finally says. “Robin and Oliver, you’re staying here?”

“We’re taking the train back, it’s fine,” Oliver says. “Thank you so much for dinner, I really enjoyed it.”

“Wait, wait!” Robin’s mum pulls out some plastic containers and immediately starts transferring various foods over. “Have some food, okay? It’s too much for us.”

“Okay,” Oliver says helplessly.

They even end up leaving with a couple of the mangos that they had bought for Robin’s parents.

Oliver leans on Robin on the train journey back. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Robin murmurs.

No doubt that his parents are going to talk to each other about their real feelings about Oliver and Robin, but at the same time, it’s not Robin’s business what they say in private. He also thinks his parents’ acceptance has been accelerated by the fact that Robin has now moved out. They’ll probably start pestering him about children in a year once they become desperate enough.

Oliver yawns. “I think I’m going to go into a food coma.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you.”

“But can you carry me _and_ the food as _well_?” Oliver teases.

“You’re worth more than the food,” Robin counters.

“Good answer.” Oliver relaxes and he closes his eyes.

There are people in the train carriage, but Robin dares to wrap an arm around Oliver’s shoulder, keeping him steady as the train runs into the night.

  


## Epilogue 6: Oliver with Kyle et al.

Over the weeks, Oliver has patched up his friendships with his old friends.

It’s currently night time, and the poetry readings have finished a while ago. Oliver is seated with Kyle and Anderson. Mia and her boyfriend are off talking with some of the poets, while Nina seems to be chatting up another woman. When they leave together, it’s clearly successful.

A message pings on Oliver’s phone. 

**Robin Quan: I started the slow cooker when I went back home earlier. Turn it off when you return, okay?**

Oliver smiles and types an affirmative.

Kyle pretends to gag. “First you, and now Nina,” he grumbles. “It’s not _fair_. I’m basically breathing in love hearts from you.”

“You’re just jealous,” Oliver says lightly.

“I’m _not!_ ” Kyle splutters.

“Fine, as a friend, I should help you. What do you want from a partner?”

Kyle pulls a face. “Really? _Really?_ ”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Oliver says. “If you don’t know, how can you even start searching? Anderson, you know Kyle better than me. What kind of qualities does Kyle look for?”

“...In bed?” Anderson’s lips turn down a little as he glances at Kyle.

“Fine, fine! Maybe someone...who’s taller than me,” Kyle admits. “He’s got to like me, and understand my humour.”

“ _Humour_ ,” Oliver coughs under his breath.

“He definitely needs to be able to eat chilli. No way would I cook _two_ sets of dinners, unless he can cook, which then makes it no problem.”

Oliver nods slowly.

“He should be…” Kyle groans. “Considerate. Attentive. All that stupid nice stuff. And play music, but not guitar.” Now at the end of his limit, Kyle downs his drink and stuffs the last handful of sweet potato chips into his mouth.

Oliver nods again, frowning a little. Kyle’s words sound very familiar…

“I’ll get you another drink,” Anderson says quietly. “More chips, or pizza later?”

“Eh, pizza later is fine,” Kyle says.

Anderson nods and stands up.

Oliver looks at Anderson’s back as he winds his way to the bar, taking with him the used cup and bowl.

And it’s like the sun is rising.

“Isn’t your perfect partner Anderson?”

Kyle’s head snaps to him. “No way! No way!”

“I bet he can lift you above his head too. I don’t know about his dating history, but I’m sure you could teach him skills in bed.”

“We’re childhood friends!”

“Who are both gay,” Oliver points out mildly. “Anderson ticks practically all of your boxes. He’s basically the perfect partner, isn’t he? He can even cook. He’s a bit quiet, but given how long you’ve been friends, it’s clearly not a problem. No offence, but the type of guys you went out with before never lasted, so maybe you should try and adjust your aesthetics.”

“Fuck you!”

“And if you don’t date him, then at our age, he’s probably going to find his own boyfriend,” Oliver continues mercilessly.

“But he’s _my_ best friend, no matter what happens,” Kyle says stubbornly.

“Uh-huh,” Oliver makes a very-unconvinced sound.

At that moment, Anderson comes back with a fresh drink for just Kyle. Kyle stares at him in silence. His lips part soundlessly.

Oliver clears his throat loudly.

“T-thanks,” Kyle accepts the drink, quickly looking away from Anderson and glaring at Oliver instead.

Oliver leans back in his chair and raises an eyebrow.

Anderson frowns.

“It’s fine, nothing’s the problem,” Kyle mutters. There’s a touch of redness across his cheeks. “Damn you, Oliver.”

Anderson frowns at Oliver.

Oliver stands up. “Anyway, I need to leave. Anderson, my tip to you is to make cake and wear sunglasses.”

“What the fuck are you on about,” Kyle retorts.

“There are two types of irresistible men,” Oliver says pompously. “Men who can bake, and men who wear sunglasses. See you!” He puts on his sunglasses and saunters out.

...Oliver peeks over his shoulder before he leaves. Kyle’s not looking at Anderson, but they seem to be talking.

In his heart, Oliver’s shaking his head. No wonder Anderson’s been following Kyle for so long. Oliver’s sure he doesn’t need to do anything more on the matter though, Kyle’ll crack soon enough.

And even better, now Oliver can go and see his lover~

  


## Epilogue 7: Lark meets Oliver’s family

One day in the summer, Oliver’s family hosts a barbeque. Since Robin is busy at the shop though, Lark decides to come in his place. She arrives with a bag of berries in one hand and a bag of melons in the other.

The driveway along the side of the house is fully open, revealing a number of people and makeshift plastic tables and chairs, and the scent of barbeque wafts through the air. Sun shines down, and there’s not much shade behind the tree in the backyard and the shadow of the house and fence. _Someone_ is definitely going to get sunburned, and it’s not going to be Lark.

“Hey, Oliver,” Lark greets as she steps onto the property. “Where’s your mum? I should say hi.”

Oliver looks at the bags she’s carrying and sighs.

Lark catches his look. “It could be worse, my mum wanted me to buy a couple of kilos of pre-marinated meat for the barbeque.”

“Who are you trying to bribe?” Oliver jokes. “Mum’s inside.”

Lark meets Oliver’s mum, as well as a number of other women, and successfully hands over the fruit after instigating that if it’s not enough, Lark will quickly head to the grocers to buy enough for everyone.

“You kids go out and play,” Oliver’s mum eventually says in defeat. “Are you hungry, Lark? Oliver can prepare a plate for you.”

Lark nods. “He will,” she assures. “Won’t you, Oliver?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Oliver says promptly.

Lark pats him on the arm. He’s much more suited to be part of her evil organisation than that stubborn Robin.

(Ignoring the fact that perhaps her own personality helped shaped Robin’s as a child.)

In the backyard, there are many people, young and old (Lark saw that some of the teens were sitting inside the house.) Someone has set up a small inflatable pool and the youngest kids are splashing inside without a care in the world, still dressed.

“Lark, this is my older brother, Cameron, and my younger brother, Henry,” Oliver introduces. “Everyone, this is Lark, Robin’s sister.”

Henry looks interested. “Lark. We’ve heard so much about you.” He looks slyly at Cameron. “Wanna play a quick game? We can gather a team. You’re already wearing football shoes.”

Lark smirks. “Because I predicted someone would say that. You provide the ball, I provide the points.”

“We’ll see,” Cameron interrupts. He shouts loudly to everyone in the backyard, “We’re playing a game! Who’s with me!”

And Henry adds, “It’s mixed teams! I’m on Lark’s team.”

Lark nods. “Good choice, Henry. Oliver?”

“No thanks,” Oliver says. He frowns though. “But do you want me to come anyway?”

Lark waves a hand. “Nah, it’s fine.” She gives Oliver a reassuring pat and heads off to join Henry and the others.

*

Oliver is a little worried, but he obeys Lark and stays back. In the late afternoon, the group returns, announced by their loud chatter.

Oliver immediately goes up to his brothers and Lark. “So, who won?”

“It was a draw,” Lark says smugly, sounding as though she purposefully made it such so that no one would be a loser.

Oliver glances at Cameron. “Satisfied your football playing itch?”

Cameron gives him a dark look. “I’m replacing you with Lark. You can’t play football for shit.”

“...”

Lark pats Oliver comfortingly. “Don’t worry, my brother loves you. Say, do you have an aloe vera? Some of the kids got sunburnt.”

“Ah, yeah,” Oliver looks pityingly at some of the other players.

“Hey Lark,” one of the guys calls out. “Are you gonna come back next week? We could set up a local tournament!”

“Sorry, I already play in my local area,” Lark says.

“Oh?” one of the women asks with interest. “Is it official?”

They all start more football chatter, and Oliver pulls a face and goes and finds the aloe vera. He worried about Lark for nothing!

(Later that night, Robin will comfort him in bed. “There, there, you didn’t grow up with Lark, but now you know better, hm?”)

  


* * *

  


# Postscript

_A few years later._

By the time the lease of the original _matcha & milk_ shop ends, Robin has gathered enough capital to open a larger shop, boasting of both a larger kitchen, more storage, and ample space for eat-in-dining.

Little motifs of deserts decorate the side wall, and there are a mixture of cosy booths and quaint small tables.

It’s now afternoon on the day of the evening’s soft opening. Robin and his pastry chef have been preparing desserts, and as the time approaches, Robin can see his friends hanging around out the front as he sets all the desserts in their display counters. There’s Oliver, Lark and Mia, Robin’s old high school and uni friends...and even Henry has come along.

With a fond exasperation, Robin unlocks the front door. “Hi, everyone. Come in quickly,” he says, letting his friends into the shop first, and giving an apologetic smile to the strangers as he locks the door again.

“Wow, it looks amazing,” Oliver quickly says first, wrapping an arm around Robin.

“Very instagramable,” Mia comments.

“Thanks,” Robin says drily, but a smile curls up the corner of his mouth. He lets Oliver drag him along to the main decorated wall.

“Hey, that’s a cheesecake, isn’t it? OH, that looks like bubble tea, and...dalgona?” Oliver points out the different images. “Waffles! We should have waffles again soon…”

“Should I have a mini competition to name the desserts?” Robin smirks.

Oliver grins. “Yeah—”

“But what if I win?” Henry interrupts. “Wouldn’t you be so guttered?”

Oliver pulls a face at Henry. “Nevermind that. Robin, let’s take a picture. Right here.”

“I’ll take it,” Lark offers smoothly, taking out her phone.

“This wall isn’t going anywhere, but alright,” Robin agrees. Oliver’s still at his side, and they both smile for Lark and her camera.

“Hey, Robin?” Oliver takes a step back.

Robin turns to him.

 _Oliver gets down on one knee_.

Robin’s stomach drops. _What?! He…!!_

Oliver pulls out a tiny cake-shaped box and pops it open, revealing a silver ring inside.

Robin holds his breath. His heart is thumping loud in his chest, he’s half-afraid he won’t be able to hear Oliver’s words.

Oliver’s eyes are bright and open, and his tone melodious as he says, “Robin, can we kiss each morning hello? Can we stay together forever? Will you fill my heart with sweetness and marry me?” 

“Ollie…” Robin’s legs tremble. “You…”

There’s the slightest pout to Oliver’s lips. “Pretty please?”

He glances at all their friends gathered. To Lark, who is clearly filming this. She raises an eyebrow. Slowly, his shock is replaced with an overwhelming fondness. He pulls Oliver to his feet. “Silly Ollie, of course I’ll marry you!”

Oliver beams. He fumbles as he puts the ring on Robin’s finger, and Robin smiles with his entire being. He loves his man _so much_.

Cheers and wolf whistles ring around the shop. “Yes!” “Remember to invite me for the wedding!”

Robin ignores them in favour of Oliver. “Where’s your ring? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have gotten you one too!”

“Hehehe,” Oliver says cheekily. The little cake box has _two_ layers, and opening the bottom compartment reveals a second ring.

“That’s…” Robin dissolves at the ridiculousness, the absurdity, of what is happening. He’s no smoother than Oliver at putting Oliver’s ring on.

“Now we match again. I think these are a tiny bit better than matching sunnies,” Oliver says with utmost seriousness. Then he pushes Robin against the wall—blocking the view of everyone else—and kisses him hard. Robin, for once, ignores propriety and deepens the kiss.

Life is very sweet.

  


# The End 🍰

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY.
> 
> SO.
> 
> WOW.
> 
> I can't believe we're at the end! A +50k story, done! Thank you for reading!! Thank you for commenting!! Thank you for your support!!!
> 
> Feel sad about it ending? How about re-reading? 😂😂😂
> 
> But actually, this is one of the first times I actually felt the pain of a story of mine ending 😭😭😭 What an experience!
> 
> In this end notes, there will be some more "behind the scenes" details about my writing process, plus current/future writing!
> 
> ### matcha & milk: behind the scenes
> 
> matcha & milk (with the lower case, LOL), started out by me watching Korean cafe vlogs. Maybe because I _couldn't_ go out... I initially had the idea of making this a Draco/Harry dessert shop/cafe setting, but to be honest, I wanted an original Asian character, hence it turned into this original story you see here~
> 
> (Also, I _already_ have a [tea-shop drarry fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894309) haha)  
> In fact, the way this was written is also comparatively rare, i.e., I only wrote about 12 scenes before I started posting. Usually, I would have written at least a draft before re-writing and posting. I _did_ have a very rough "outline", with scenes that I wanted to include, plus desserts I wanted to include (the dessert list was very important), but the outline evolved over time.  
> Part of the reason why I decided to write and post was that I didn't want to stress about it, this was meant to be a _chill out_ fic, with **cute fluff and yummy desserts**. By posting it, I'd stop myself from re-writing over and over again. Also, by posting, I get feedback 😂😂 _Incorporating_ this feedback into story has been very interesting process, like how people pointed out their feelings about Nina and Kyle. I actually gave Nina and Kyle a bigger role because of that 😂😂
> 
> That said, if you were reading from the beginning, I had to change Robin's dessert shop name from " _Delightful Desserts and Drinks_ " to " _matcha & milk_".😅😅😅  
> Both the writing-as-I-go, my fairly relaxed attitude towards it, _plus_ all your lovely feedback meant that this ending was not rushed (in my opinion) compared to my other stories. Thank you!
> 
> I wrote _matcha & milk_ all on Google Docs and converted to HTML formatting with the AO3 HTML google docs posting script. I also drew the cover in Adobe Photoshop.
> 
> Other brainstormed titles include: _Slice of Cake, Cake x Tea, Strawberry & Matcha, _and _Milk & Matcha_.
> 
> Desserts I didn't feature but had on my list include: double chocolate matcha tart, TimTam cheesecake, and cheese milk tea.
> 
> My initial character notes for Oliver and Robin were: _Oliver is a like a Disaster Gay, while Robin is more like an Oblivious Gay_. 😂😂  
> 
> 
> ### Other writing
> 
> My current writing project I'm working on right now [as of October 2020] is a Draco/Harry fic called [_Under Dragon Wings_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25938994/chapters/63048697), in which Draco....can turn into a dragon 🙈
> 
> I'm also working on a food fic (nonbinary/male pairing) with [toutcequonveut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toutcequonveut) (*waves* if you're reading this lol). toutcequonveut has also made food drawings for each chapter, so look forward to it!
> 
> update: my co-authored food fic is called [eat a mango, gift a garden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357994/chapters/66850123), please check it out!
> 
> Aside from them, I have a lot of cultivation fantasy (wuxia/xianxia/xuanhuan) type stories in mind, but we'll see if I'll complete any...  
> And a final thanks to everyone for reading! Lots of internet hugs!


End file.
